Prelude: To Domathra (Isekai/LitRPG/OP MC)

“Bolide!” Redra called through gritted teeth.

Three small balls of fire appeared, none larger than her thumb, and began orbiting her head. She smiled in satisfaction. It was not the most impressive Bolide ever cast, but it was successful—

“Gah!” she gasped, falling to her hands and knees as the fireballs winked out like embers from an extinguished fire.

“Ha! Experience really is a better teacher than I’ll ever be. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell ya that having enough mana for spell activation alone isn’t enough. You’ll learn it best when you overestimate yourself and eat shit,” Esmerelda chuckled, her mouth full of sandwich.

Redra sighed, always taken aback by the differences between the Esmerelda that society saw and the one she knew.

Of course, Redra was well aware that Bollide required a continuous mana investment until all the fireballs were expended, but she had not expected it to be this extreme. The maintenance cost should be the least mana-intensive. It took far more to both create the fireballs and then launch them, yet she could not even manage that.

“Ah, don’t sweat it, kid. You’re eighteen, and that’s tier four magic. The fact that you can cast it at all is plenty impressive enough,” Esmerelda said, licking her fingers as she strode over.

“Not for me, not for my standards,” Redra gasped between breaths.

“That confidence or pride talking? One of those is fine; the other is deadly,” Esmerelda lectured, suddenly serious.

“I know what I am capable of. I simply refuse any pride until I actually accomplish my goal,” Redra replied, standing straight and consciously slowing her breathing.

Contrary to what her name might suggest, Esmerelda was a tall woman with fire-red hair and matching eyes, equally attention-grabbing. Contrary to what those looks might suggest, she was not a pyromancer, specifically—a true enigma.

She was skilled in many branches of magic, evidenced by her Archmage class, offered to only top-tier casters, not to mention being specifically selected for the princess’s magical education.

“Well, do what you want. My job’s just to teach you magic. Everything else I’m doing for free,” she replied with a shrug, her gravitas evaporating in an instant.

Redra dusted her hands against her pants, turning as she heard the door open. This was the practice room for the royal family, specifically, not just a palace training hall. Someone important would be coming through the door if it opened without announcement.

Her brother, Rodward, the First Prince of Sardvend, entered, followed by Morwynn, surprisingly.

“Wynn!” Redra chirped, running over to embrace her.

“Good to see you, your highness,” Wynn replied, stiff and formal—likely due to her brother’s presence.

“She was waiting in the hall, so I grabbed her on my way,” Rodward said with a smile. “The timing is good. Father asked me to lead you to his study.”

Redra’s smile fell, and she studied her brother.

“Ser Richard is going to attempt another divination?” she asked.

“The big one, this time,” Rodward said, nodding.

Redra hooked her arm in Wynn’s, ferrying her out into the hall. Rodward exited behind them and hurried to take the lead, with Esmerelda bringing up the rear.

“Divination? Not simple scrying?” Wynn asked quietly.

“Ser Richard has tried scrying many times. He has been unable to get through thus far. Sounds like father has decided a more drastic measure is required,” Redra whispered back.

“Something worth using such powerful magic, previous scrying failing…that must mean—” Wynn reasoned.

“The Pillar, yes. We are trying to deduce why it vanished,” Redra said, sending Wynn a pointed look.

As expected, she immediately perked up, more than idle curiosity could explain.

“Oh, are you interested in the Pillar’s disappearance, perhaps?” Redra teased. “You know, it is rare that you come to visit me. Typically, it is the other way around. What circumstances could have changed the dynamic? Were you, perhaps, looking for an opportunity to sail to Ashreach?”

Wynn reddened noticeably, releasing Redra’s arm to fiddle with her bun, which had not a hair out of place.

“I simply thought—” she started.

Rodward stopped abruptly, turning toward the girls with a finger to his lips. They had arrived at the king’s study, and he rapped twice on the door before announcing himself.

“Enter,” the king commanded.

Redra had already switched to the most proper posture she knew, and Wynn stood straight, hands held perfectly even at her sides. Redra counted seven people clustered around his private office, themselves included. There was the king, his chancellor, his information minister, Rodward, who was functionally the marshal of the kingdom, Redra, Wynn, and Esmerelda.

Redra noticed a slight tell from Wynn: she was surprised to see the information minister, which was understandable. The position sounded, and indeed was, on paper, a bureaucratic one, concerned with kingdom logistics. However, Redra did not need explicit confirmation from her father or brother to recognize the spymaster for what he was.

An eighth member followed behind them, Ser Richard presenting with ostentatious robes of white and gold. His own white hair stood out against the more cream-colored robes, and his sharp green eyes threw the whole ensemble out of alignment, to Redra’s eye. However, the display of wealth was likely more important than the fashion.

Ser Richard had been present for all the previous scrying, but his finery today signaled that he was not present as ‘a palace diviner’ but the grand visier. His role was less defined than most, but it generally boiled down to being the head consultant on all matters esoteric.

“Ser Richard, thank you for joining us. I see Knight Morwynn as well. Bold of you to bring her to a closed council without consulting me first, but I would have agreed anyway. I will not fault my son for knowing his old man’s thoughts,” the king chuckled.

Rodward nodded, wearing a slight smile, which was about as much emotion as could be expected from him.

Redra knew her father’s thoughts, too. Morwynn was set on following her father’s footsteps and becoming the retainer for the hero, when—not if—she returned. However, most in the kingdom suspected the hero was long gone, including the king. He had been warming to the idea of Morwynn becoming Redra’s personal retainer instead.

The two already got along famously, and Morwynn’s lineage was, without question, one of the most respected and accomplished in the kingdom. None would object, and it would be a significant deterrent to both ne’er-do-wells and nobles alike who might try nefarious things with Redra to advance their own positions.

Whether Wynn herself would accept that position seemed less than an afterthought to him, but Redra was only going to cross that bridge when they arrived at it.

“Thank you for your time, your majesty,” Ser Richard said, bowing.

The king nodded to his chancellor, who produced a box slightly smaller than his hands from within his lavish robe. He handed it delicately to Ser Richard, who opened it with eager hands that nearly shook.

A red crystal, the length and width of Redra’s index and middle fingers held together, rested atop a white cushion, strapped to it, as if to prevent jostling. Redra both knew it was foolish to secure it that way and did not blame the packager for doing so.

This crystal was crashglass, a shard of the meteor that brought about the apocalypse, the Skyfade, almost five hundred years ago. It was extremely durable, so minor shocks from being carried in a box were not a concern. 

However, such a resource was extraordinarily valuable, both for its rarity in Vadenlaud and its properties. It was the best mana capacitor ever discovered, capable of storing mana stably for hundreds of years.

There were several mana storage devices in existence, but none could retain mana at a one-to-one ratio, lossless, for as long. In fact, the storage duration was generally accepted to be ‘hundreds of years’, but none had actually found the limit yet. It had only been five hundred years since the material arrived, and remnant mana within select crashglass specimens had not deteriorated even a little in all that time.

Precious few samples were present in Vadenlaud, all either ejected from Ashreach by the initial impact or carried over from the few disastrous settlement attempts. Regardless of the origin, every single piece, no matter the size, was worth a small fortune.

Ser Richard held the crystal gingerly, and Redra thought he might be on the verge of drooling before he seemed to remember both that he was in the presence of the king and that the crystal was not his to keep.

“If there are no objections, I will begin promptly,” he declared, looking toward the king, who only nodded.

Ser Richard placed his two palms together in front of his chest, the crystal between them, and closed his eyes. Redra saw mana gather, transferring from the crystal he held and into his body through his hands. He inhaled sharply, and Redra knew exactly how he felt.

Wielding a large amount of mana at once was intoxicating, especially when the mana was far beyond one’s own means.

“Farsight,” he said, breathy and quietly.

Redra resisted a shiver of disgust. She felt like she needed a bath, as if she had just witnessed something that should be intimate and private.

There was a brief flash of light, so quick that the searing in her eyes was the only indication it was not an illusion. Ser Richard began shaking with ecstasy, a powerful spell using a colossal amount of mana pressing his mind toward intoxication.

Suddenly, the shakes turned into tremors, and his jubilant look turned to terror.

“What is going on, Ser Richard?” the king asked loudly.

“See—see—see,” he stammered, unable to get the word out amid his convulsions.

“What have you seen?” Rodward demanded.

Ser Richard’s tremors suddenly stopped.

“I have been seen,” he whispered, his lip quivering.

“Ah!” he screamed, his voice rising and lowering in pitch in an alien, disturbing manner.

Rodward drew his sword, quick as lightning, and stepped between Ser Richard and the king. Morwynn did the same, stepping between Redra and Esmerelda and Ser Richard. Esmerelda, much less disturbed than the others, smiled at Morwynn in amusement.

Ser Richard stilled, standing straight. He clasped his hands behind his back calmly, and his eyes opened.

A vacuum stared back at them, his sclera a field of stars that twinkled, as if alive. His pupils were a dark void, eclipsing glowing white irises like two suns.

He glanced around the room, seemingly taking it in, as if his first time seeing it. He stopped when he saw the banner over the wall, behind the king’s desk.

“Sardvend insignia. Vadenlaud, then,” said a voice.

Though it came from Ser Richard’s mouth, it was clearly not his own. This was higher-pitched, but monotone, as if uninterested in these trifling events. It chilled Redra’s bones.

“What have you done to Ser Richard?” the king demanded.

Redra was impressed with his unshakability. Though he stood behind his desk, Rodward in front of him, he immediately commanded attention.

“You must be the current king? It has been two hundred years since I crossed the sea, so I suppose I should not have expected to recognize the current leader. Descendents of King Sardvar, perhaps?” the voice mused, clearly unthreatened.

“You did not answer me. What have you done to Ser Richard?” the king demanded once again.

“Counterspell,” the voice said simply, as if it explained everything.

Redra’s eyes widened enough to notice Esmerelda’s brows raise out of her peripheral vision. Counterspell was not a trivial spell, but neither was it particularly difficult. It was tier three, in most cases.

However, what this ‘person’ had just done was reverse Farsight, a tier eight spell that required the grand visier to use an external mana source to cast. Not only that, Redra could not fathom how a reversal of Farsight would include possessing the original caster’s body.

“I have brushed your scrying attempts aside thus far, rather magnanimous, yes? When last I visited Vadenlaud, I was on good terms with the Kingdom of Sardvend,” the voice said.

Ser Richard’s body extended a hand, opening it to reveal not the crashglass crystal he had been holding, but what looked like a coin. It was made of starmetal; that much was plain even at a glance, the metal so exotic and expensive that it was easily recognizable. It was inlaid with crashglass in the Sardvend insignia, but it did not match the banner on the wall exactly.

A griffon reared back, extending a claw in attack, while its other remained close in defence of its body. It had no distinct features, only the outline of the beast in the red crystal. This was the original insignia for Sardvend, created by and for the former king, Redra’s grandfather, when the kingdom was first founded.

Redra gulped, and she noticed stunned expressions from everyone else in the room as well. Morwynn, in particular, had eyes wide enough that she could probably see in the dark. She gripped the hilt of her sword so hard her knuckles were white.

Favor of the crown—that is what this coin represented, and there could be only one person in possession of such an old, rare one like this. Favors were not granted often, and favors made of starmetal even less often.

“Cease your attempts to spy, please. Not only is it rude, but it also calls into question whether we are still on good terms,” the voice commanded.

 Nobody, not even the king, responded this time, all frozen in place. All save Morwynn.

“Wait! I—” she started, raising a hand as she stepped forward.

Ser Richard crumpled to the floor in a heap, the crashglass crystal, discharged of mana, clattering beside him. He groaned and rubbed his knees as he sat up, looking around at all the stunned faces.

“What—what happened?” he asked.

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