"I refuse to stay with lunatics. Tell them slaughtering a city would bring them closer to that Primeval, and they'd do it without blinking."
Melina's voice dripped with disgust. Her hatred for those without principles burned bright. A thought struck her.
"Has your teacher ever been here?"
The 'Stray Sorcerer' Vilhelm had dealings with Sellen. She must have known about Hermit Village.
"No. She never got the chance. Thank the Erdtree for that. If she'd come, dragging her back would've been a nightmare."
Throne muttered, more to himself than anyone.
He'd witnessed the methods of these madmen, yet oddly, he felt... comfortable. His heart whispered that the wanderer had finally come home, though this 'home' was anything but welcoming. The disconnect between what he saw and what he felt gnawed at him.
Throne pinched his chin, still observing. Some sorcerers stood by the cliff like stone statues, lost in thought. Others paced endlessly along the road. From a distance, it might have looked bustling.
"Something's odd here."
"Of course it's odd. They're madmen."
Melina seized the chance to retaliate. Usually, she was the one on the receiving end of such remarks. Throne ignored her petty victory. He watched silently as the sky darkened, the Glintstone Lamps casting an eerie glow.
Madmen's logic eluded him. Sleep with one eye open tonight—that was the plan. Throne gave up trying to make sense of it.
He turned and saw Rya at the door, clutching a ceramic pot. His frown deepened.
"How many times have I told you? Don't go out alone. This place isn't safe."
The girl lowered her head, fingers clutching her hem.
"I... I just wanted to make dinner for you. It's so strange here. No ingredients, not even water. Do these people not eat or drink?"
Her complaints spilled out. She'd wandered around, scared at first, but the hermits ignored her completely, as if she were invisible.
No eating or drinking? Throne's frown tightened. He'd been watching for hours—how had he missed that these sorcerers had no physiological needs? Reality wasn't a game. Even Radahn had to eat, drink, and sleep.
"How's this room?"
"Filthy. Like no one's ever lived here."
"What about the other rooms? Did you check them?"
"I went looking for water earlier. They're all the same—thick with dust."
Rya wrinkled her nose, her discomfort clear. Melina glanced at her, then at Throne, and couldn't resist.
"Maybe madmen don't care about cleanliness?"
"They're madmen, not Those Who Live in Death. This village isn't right. For Raya Lucaria Academy to kill people under Rykard's nose, they couldn't have made much noise. And these Primeval Sorcerers aren't weak. How were they wiped out so easily?"
Throne muttered, lost in thought, ignoring Melina's follow-up. Am I missing something?
Ten years ago, Lusat managed to send him a surprise. Why should Azur, who is at the same level, wait for death under a cliff like a stone man? His eyes flickered.
He called out. Soon, a group of sorcerers gathered, asking what he needed.
"Nothing. You may go."
Throne waved them away. The sorcerers showed no impatience. They retreated—some into rooms, others back to their pacing or dazed stillness. They didn't seem like puppets. Even if they were a bit dull, each person had their own personality and differences.
"Melina, go take a walk outside."
"For what?"
"Don't ask. You'll know after a couple of laps."
Inexplicable. The girl grumbled as she walked out of the room. Throne watched quietly.
Sure enough, those sorcerers all reacted, though not as attentively as they did toward him; they were either watching or following her. No abnormality. This girl should have been monitored anyway.
"Rya, now it's your turn."
The girl wiping the table looked up, also finding it inexplicable, but she obediently walked out. Creak—
The wooden door creaked again.
Rya nervously gripped the corner of her clothes. Under the dim Glintstone Lamps, a dozen or so sorcerers were still wandering the road like ghosts. When she walked past them with her head down, unlike with Melina, no one spared her a glance, as if they were blind.
"Interesting. A living person this big is swinging right in front of them, and they don't even have an instinctive reaction."
Throne was a bit confused. In terms of physical appearance, Rya was much more recognizable than Melina, unless—
"They don't use their eyes to distinguish people."
The only difference between the three was that Rya was too weak. In this world full of monsters, she was like a blank sheet of paper, unable to even trigger the intuition of the strong. One person would be one thing, but how is everyone like this?
"Did you find anything?"
Melina walked back, panting slightly.
"I couldn't shake them, not even by spiritualizing. This isn't right."
"Of course. They aren't looking with their eyes at all, so your spiritualization doesn't mean much."
Throne looked at the freely moving Rya and lightly tapped the ground.
"I finally know how a mere few academy sorcerers conquered this village."
Ah? Wasn't the academy taken over by you? Melina was stunned, but she still asked subconsciously, "Why?"
"Because these people were already destroying themselves. Remember Azur whom I mentioned?"
Throne withdrew his gaze and looked at Melina with an expression as if he were telling a ghost story.
"It seems he's still alive. No, I should say he never died."
The girl didn't quite understand, but she caught the meaning.
"Are you saying he's behind this? How? We haven't seen him."
Throne didn't answer, pointing at the pitch-black exterior and those strangely behaving sorcerers.
"He is everywhere."
Only when an anomaly was spotted did some overlooked questions surface in his mind. No wonder that captured hermit was so strange—his words were intense, yet his tone was steady.
"The entire Hermit Village has already been influenced by him. This is a trap."
Throne realized he had been tricked, but there was nothing he could do. Who could have known he would encounter such a bizarre thing? Normal people would only think the Primeval Sorcerers were too crazy, but who could understand the strange actions of a madman?
However, it was a coincidence that there was a weakling in his team, one with an Akkarin talent for lack of presence. This was beyond the opponent's expectations; after all, her strength shouldn't have allowed her to come to Hermit Village, and those with weak observation wouldn't see these details. But unfortunately for you, you met me!
Throne never thought he was highly intelligent, but his observation skills derived from swordsmanship were meticulous, and with his rich life experience, what kind of scene had he not seen?
"What do you mean? Could they be trying to kidnap you?"
"Don't just talk about killing. He should know that I am both Lusat and not Lusat. All that talk about embracing Master Azur is a lie. He's plotting something else for me."
Throne muttered under his breath, his voice low and cryptic. He knew the truth—that primeval glintstone wasn't something he'd condensed himself. It had been taken by force. Lusat was still alive, after all. Melina could piece it together too, and her panic flickered just beneath the surface.
"What do we do? Should we call the Lunar Princess?"
As the last remaining master of Primeval Sorcery, and after orchestrating such a grand scheme, it would be catastrophic if Azur brought Lusat out for Possession.
"What are you thinking? Azur wouldn't bother resurrecting a 'friend.' He's after that primeval glintstone. What he plans to do with it, I don't know."
Throne could only speculate based on Sellen's fate. If Azur's consciousness still lingered, his research into the Primeval would have advanced far beyond Sellen's. He might have devised some new, terrifying method.
Telling Ranni would only add to her worries, so Throne waited until Rya returned, breathless. He realized that in certain situations, weakness could be an advantage.
"Throne, they really don't notice me," Rya said, her voice tinged with surprise. She couldn't explain it either.
"I'm going to give you a mission. It's dangerous—you can refuse."
Throne laid it out plainly. He wasn't claiming to be some genius; the clues he'd pieced together were tested, not conjured from thin air.
"Tell me. I'm not afraid."
Rya's expression was serious, almost eager.
"Alright."
Throne gestured for Melina to dissipate, then handed the delicate doll to Rya. She fiddled with it, holding it like a ragdoll.
"Take her and go to the deepest part of Hermit Village. Find someone dressed extravagantly, covered in glintstone crystals."
Rya swallowed hard. It sounded perilous, but she nodded.
"Okay. I'll go."
Creak—The wooden door swung open for the third time. Throne stepped out, and the reaction was immediate. Unlike Rya's unnoticed exit, the hermits fixed their gazes on him instantly, closing in like a swarm of devoted followers.
"Master."
"Master, it's late. Where are you going?"
Voices surrounded him. Throne met their eyes and said simply, "There's something I need to check." He offered no further explanation and walked forward alone.
More hermits gathered, dozens trailing behind him. There was no malice in their steps—just an eerie, unwavering loyalty. Throne stopped at the Evergaol. Beside it lay several dried corpses. They knelt on the ground, clutching their own hands or thighs, faces tilted toward the starry sky as if preparing to sacrifice a limb.
"Master, are you interested in this? With all due respect, the Fire Monks' cultivation methods have nothing to do with the Primeval."
"Yes, we've conducted many experiments. The starry sky lacks consciousness; it's not an evil god. Pain won't forge a connection."
Throne studied the abstract corpses, then slowly raised his hand.
"Arrogance is a sin. Did you think I was as foolish as you? Wait. I'll study this."
The hermits exchanged glances but didn't interfere, curious to see what the Primeval master might uncover. Throne strode to the center of the Evergaol. As he channeled his magic, the jail emitted a faint, dim light. His consciousness blurred for a moment, and he was pulled into the subspace.
It resembled the jail that held the Onyx Lord—pale purple hues filled the interior. Just as Throne began to search, a roar echoed through the void.
"You madmen still dare to come!?"
A burly figure charged forward, morning star swinging. Fury drove him, silent and brutal. The weapon came down heavy, a hammer eager to crush bone. Throne's Moonveil flashed upward. Clang! The morning star arced skyward, torn from Adam's grip by the force.
He staggered back, shock widening his eyes. Why... why weren't these lunatics following the rules? Adam retreated fast, his raised left hand tracing a sigil in the air. Above him, a fireball ignited—orange-red, pulsing with heat.
Throne frowned. This wasn't like the flames of the Fire Monks. This fire felt ancient, malevolent, alive. The monks' flames were crude imitations. This was something primal, hungry. Thopss Barrier. He released a ripple of cyan energy. The fireball struck it, embedded itself, and detonated. Embers scattered across the ground, burning stubbornly.
His strength isn't exceptional, but blocking that flame drained more than I expected. Is it the quality of the flame? Two fires, utterly different in essence. Throne didn't linger on the thought. He leapt forward. The blade swept low, followed by a knee driving hard into Adam's gut.
Bang! The impact folded him in half. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head spun. So strong... He couldn't fight back, overwhelmed as if facing a demigod. Throne's hand shot out, gripping Adam's face, lifting him off the ground.
Adam's feet kicked wildly, banging against Throne's breastplate. Throne sheathed Moonveil and held the Great-Jar's Arsenal before Adam's eyes.
"I'm not a sorcerer. Do you remember a Warrior Jar named Alexander?"
Sorcerers didn't make people vomit blood with a punch. But this talisman... Adam stopped struggling, his bloodied lips curling into a grin.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Rationality lingered in his voice. Throne set him down, brushed dust from his shoulder, and smiled gently.
"There's something I'd like to talk to you about."