Eventide Scriptures I - The Shattering of an Era

Chapter 13.1 - Battle Beneath the Shadows (Part I)

Varne took the straight path towards Parfal, cutting through steep mountains. His fingernails snapped as they clutched at crevices in the cliffs. The bare necessities he carried were rolled into a blanket and tied behind his waist.

Atop the peak, a horde of monsters awaited him. He sneered. Both his fists glowed with Ruin Fist. He had indeed been longing for them.

His right punch shattered a monster's head, scattering its tiny brains. He spun around, swinging his left backhand, and crushed another monster's head. His right hand grabbed a third monster's wing and tore it off.

Parfal was the second-largest port city after Fhon. Hemmed in by mountains, its location demanded passage through the western corridor. Yet Varne, with a vengeance like fiery claws gripping his heart, refused to take the longer route.

Not knowing Margivaz's face only freed his mind to conjure the worst images. He would find him as soon as possible and then kill him in the worst possible way.

Kill!

KILL!

Varne left a trail of monster carcasses as he descended the mountain. According to the physician's information, he first had to head to Parfal and sail across the strait to reach the mainland of Eldarin. Afterwards, he would head east to find Orfia.

The physician also warned that the eastern lands were being ravaged by Terzion. So be it. He would destroy anyone who stood in the way.

The buildings of Parfal stood along the slopes that descended to the sea. Its main road sliced the city in two, sliding from the hilltop before being intercepted by the dock stretching from west to east. The inhabitants scurried about, their long shadows in the evening sun intersecting.

He walked towards the port, wading through the populace that bumped, jostled, and pushed him. The destruction of Fhon had sparked widespread panic. People wanted to flee – anywhere but here. They were eager to sell their lands before leaving, while others sought profit by buying at rock-bottom prices.

The Parfal port was even more crowded. The docks brimmed with people, animals, and goods to the point where the wooden pillars creaking as if on the brink of collapse. On a corner of the beach, uncovered by wooden planks, old people and children salted and smoked fish.

Varne grew impatient queuing for the boat tickets. When his turn came, the ticket seller simply said, "No more tickets," and left his booth. Varne shivered with rage, yet he knew he was powerless – which enraged him further.

From the chatter among the people in the harbor, another way to cross was by boarding a private ship. Perhaps a vessel needing guards or a cargo ship. His eyes darted, searching for such a ship along the dock. He needed to hurry–

Thunk. A dockworker collided with him, dropping a wooden crate. There was a sound of shattered pottery, and the purple wine seeped from the crate's fissure.

"Use your eyes when walking!" The worker glared at him.

"Use your head when talking!" Varne retorted.

"It's your fault! I won't replace it!"

He refrained from causing trouble, but the worker was overstepping his bounds. Perhaps a headbutt breaking the nose and making him choke on his blood would calm him.

A wooden stick with an iron seagull tip swooped onto the worker's head from behind. A short-statured captain, swearing in sailor's lingo, scolded the worker and ordered him back to work. His old blue jacket was stained with dried vomit.

"And you! If you stand gawking in the way, you're more useless than a bilge rat!" His breath smelled like fish guts left under the summer sun.

They were really, really... Varne swallowed his anger.

"I'll compensate for the loss. But take me across the strait."

The captain stood as tall as he could before Varne, head tilted up and both hands wrapped around the iron seagull. Its features had dulled over the years from sweat and salt.

"Fine. Forty bronze coins."

Varne had about a hundred bronze coins. This was all of Lorn's savings. Forty was steep, but necessary to cross the strait. The captain counted each coin before they all disappeared into his pouch.

"Where's your ship?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you play dumb! I said I'd replace your goods and take me on your ship!"

"Listen, I said fine to replacing my goods. I said nothing about taking you. Or are you accusing me? Shall I call the harbormaster?" The captain sneered, revealing his sparse teeth.

Blood vessels on Varne's jaw twitched. "FINE! How much to board your ship?"

"Listen, bronze coins are worthless in times of war, no matter how much you have."

"But you just took mine!"

"Listen, Boy. In war, Isofean-stamped bronze coins can't be used for trading with the Terzionite and may be deemed invalid at any time. Only gold or silver coins have value now. So, how many gold pieces do you have?"

He fell silent. The captain grinned.

"I thought so. Listen, there's one way to make a lot of money fast. You know Lorith? It's more valuable than gold and accepted across all Inner Realms. And Parfal happens to have a Lorith mine. Read my bearing? Give me a piece of Lorith, and I'll take you."

"Lorith mine? Where?"

"Figure it out yourself! I'll wait till sunset." The captain walked away, his gait steady, using the stick more for show than need.

More than half the sun had set behind the mountains. Varne left Parfal without further delay.

To the southeast of the city lay a winding path up the mountain that unfurled into several branches, ending at mine entrances. This was the Parfal mining complex. There were no guards or workers here. Picks, shovels, and hammers lay abandoned. Perhaps due to whispers of Terzionite impending attack.

The problem now was distinguishing the Lorith mine from others. Varne knew about Lorith – everyone did, though few had seen it with their own eyes. Lorith was a transparent blue mineral, a power source for Artifica instruments. After Artifica was banned, it continued to be mined on a small scale as a valuable item. But now, every Inner Realm mined it due to the threat of Terzion's Artifica.

After wandering for a while, he remembered a crucial property of Lorith. The mineral was highly light-sensitive. In strong light, it could cause intense fires. Hence, Lorith jewelry was only worn at night parties, and various methods were employed in its mining to avoid sunlight.

Among all the mine entrances, only one faced south – to minimize sunlight exposure – even though this positioning made it less accessible. A wooden structure covered the entrance to ensure no other light source entered.

Using Blast Rush, he leaped across a forty-foot gap. He failed to reach the other side, his footing slipped, and he dangled on the edge of the cliff with one arm. Yet with Prana, one arm was enough to lift himself.

Blast Rush was a technique of expelling Prana from one side of the body to give a short burst of movement to the opposite side. In a duel, this technique was useful for closing the gap with an opponent. It could also be used for high jumps or quick dodges.

Torches lined racks near the entrance. Varne took one, ignited it with Dorian's dagger and a flint. He broke the padlock on the door and entered, making sure to close it behind him, lest the sunlight set the whole mine aflame.

He had heard that Lorith mine walls were shiny black, and this mine's walls convinced him he had chosen the right one. The torchlight bounced off the walls, trailing deep within.

Lorith's sensitivity to light depended onits purity level. As a rule, the light from a single torch was not strongenough to activate it. Yet, worry lingered. Should it burst into fire, only twofates awaited: death by flame or suffocation.