Return of the Runebound Professor Chapter 869: Tournament Trouble

Noah didn't have to think hard to see that Mordred surely knew the name of the somewhat courteous shadow woman who had snatched him away. The man made no attempt to conceal his shock. However, the sheer force of his response left Noah questioning if he'd gone a step too far.

Noah shrugged as he answered, “She kidnapped me for around an hour. We talked a bit. Then it wrapped up, and I departed. That's pretty much the whole story. But I don't like being yanked from my sleep. It's impolite.”

Mordred's eyebrows knitted together. “You actually conversed with her? And nothing more?”

“That's correct,” Noah confirmed. “Why the big deal? You obviously recognize her. Mind sharing with the group?”

“What sort of oddball titles herself Mistress?” Brayden wondered aloud. He stopped short as Noah and Mordred turned to him, then cleared his throat. “Apologies. Continue.”

“No, you're spot on,” Mordred agreed. “She's bizarre. Utterly so. Strange past comprehension. That lady is as steady as a stack of slick rocks by the riverbank.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Lee remarked.

Noah cleared his throat into his hand. “Details, if you please. How do you know her? Who exactly is she?”

Mordred peeked over his shoulder at the window, ensuring it was sealed tight. Then he faced the others again. “Mistress is an early Rank 8 mage. Among Aqua Terra's mightiest beings, she bows to none but the Prophet... if she bothers to at all. She's a loose cannon.”

“A loose cannon?” Noah was genuinely startled. “Right under the Prophet's watch? Is she just a pesky underling? Or a outright foe?”

“Both,” Mordred replied. He paused briefly, then winced. “This goes way past what I ever planned to discuss. I'm glad to share tournament intel. But this... it's another matter. No clue why she'd be abducting folks, but steer clear or stay in her favor. You don't want to provoke that creature.”

“Why not?” Noah pressed.

Mordred shot Noah a hard look. “I think I've been crystal clear. I'm not sticking my neck out here.”

“Too late for that,” Noah countered. “You already meddled by tailing Lee. That's our affair. And so is this.”

“That's a reach,” Mordred dismissed, folding his arms across his chest. “A huge one. It wouldn't stand up to scrutiny. My curiosity was strictly academic. Anyone in my shoes would act the same.”

Noah merely raised an eyebrow.

“I can confidently say that's untrue,” Brayden stated. “Want our trust? Prove your worth beyond stalking. We're not demanding your darkest secrets—which you're pushing Lee to reveal, by the way. Quite the hypocrite.”

Mordred let out a sigh.

“You get that digging further endangers us all, right?”

“That's what everyone claims when cornered on a question,” Noah noted.

Mordred shook his head. “Guess it hasn't killed you yet.”

“Alright,” Mordred conceded, dropping his voice to a hushed murmur. His gaze drilled into Noah's. “But swear utter secrecy. This is blasphemous talk. Pure speculation from my service years. Take it as such. Breathe a word, and the Prophet handles it—I’ll deny everything.”

“I don't blab secrets that risk my friends,” Noah assured. “Speak openly.”

Despite the promise, Mordred held back a moment.

“The entity called Mistress never should have been permitted in Aqua Terra,” Mordred stated at last. “She endangers the Prophet greatly. Two Rank 8s in one city spells catastrophe for myriad causes.”

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“So what's keeping her here?” Brayden inquired, cocking his head. “I witnessed the Prophet in battle. That woman's a beast. I know zilch about Rank 8s... but she must pack enough punch to boot out intruders.”

“She could,” Mordred admitted deliberately. “But I doubt she dares.”

“Too risky a clash?” Noah ventured.

Mordred denied it. “No. The Prophet outmatches Mistress by far. In open combat, the Prophet triumphs without question. But that's not why they avoid it.”

“Then why?” Lee demanded. “Childhood pals?”

“Absolutely not,” Mordred declared with a dark expression. “The Prophet’s grip on Aqua Terra… isn’t nearly as firm as she’d have everyone believe. I suspect she’s falling behind in the faction war.”

“What’s that again?” Brayden questioned. “A war’s brewing?”

“Vaster than anything you could fathom,” Mordred replied. “It’s raged on ever since Obsidia came into being.”

“I haven’t spotted any signs of war anywhere,” Lee remarked, furrowing her brow.

“This isn’t a conflict of mortals,” Mordred explained. “It’s waged among gods—or those aspiring to godhood. Have you any clue what it takes to attain Rank 8?”

“Nope,” Noah admitted. “None of us do. What about you?”

“Not at all,” Mordred answered, utterly sincere. “Why on earth would I know?”

Brayden cleared his throat. “But didn’t you just—”

“Rhetorical question,” Mordred clarified. “Still, I’m aware that each rank makes ascension exponentially tougher. Hitting Rank 7 is an impressive feat already. Doing so with a solid Rune? A thousandfold more challenging. Then crafting six more Rank 7 Runes capable of Rank 8… virtually unattainable. Across all of Obsidia, Rank 8 mages number fewer than 50, I’d wager. And those whose Runes might climb to Rank 9? Even rarer.”

“Resources,” Noah murmured. “You mean the Rank 8s are battling for resources, right?”

“Resources and Runes,” Mordred confirmed, nodding. “That side of the war isn’t hidden. It stays covert until a prize emerges. Then only Rank 8s and their followers clash. The upside for folks like us—”

“Speak for yourself,” Brayden interjected, jabbing a finger at Mordred.

Mordred cleared his throat before pressing on. “For everyone below Rank 8, the silver lining is they rarely get pulled in unless they’re too close to the prize. Rank 8s won’t squander lives on them. But the Faction Heads—they’re the true combatants. They crave resources for their own ascensions and to block rivals from gaining strength to seize their own.”

“So Obsidia keeps getting wrecked by Rank 8 mages in some petty tug-of-war?” Brayden demanded, his bushy eyebrows knitting in fury. “For real? That immature?”

“Far from it,” Mordred countered, shaking his head. “They’re too perilous for pettiness. Yet Faction Heads grasp a single Rank 8’s threat level. They preserve equilibrium, ensuring no faction surges ahead too far. It prevents any one from launching a full conquest of the empire.”

“Sounds beneficial,” Lee observed. “Doesn’t that keep things mostly peaceful for ordinary folk?”

Mordred inclined his head. “Indeed. Most Faction Heads aren’t terrible. Ruthless and deadly, sure, but they’ve forged a fragile peace. The issue lies elsewhere—with the Prophet.”

“She lacks the strength,” Brayden stated. He rested an arm on his sword’s pommel. “That’s your point? She can’t match the other Faction Heads, so she lets another Rank 8 linger in her key city, supporting her covertly in return for favors?”

“Precisely,” Mordred affirmed. “That’s my theory, though proof’s absent. Some claim Mistress isn’t worth the Prophet’s effort, and her long stay without chaos proves harmless. But it clashes with my observations. And now, with Mistress meddling in the Tournament of Heaven’s Path… something stirs. She’s grasping for greater might.”

Noah’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “She must know that the Prophet’s death would leave her defenseless against the other Rank 8s. Otherwise, no need for their alliance to begin with.”

“Exactly why she’s stayed passive,” Mordred said, shaking his head. “Mistress isn’t foolish; her moves are calculated. I can’t guess her aims. Slaying the Prophet would doom the Coral Empire—Mistress would fall swiftly to the other Faction Heads. Unlikely she plots so boldly. Even so, her foothold in Aqua Terra spells trouble. A scheme may be unfolding.”

“Why not warn the Prophet?” Noah suggested. “Skip mentioning my role. She snatched others too—courteously, but still a kidnapping. Perhaps she can handle it solo.”

“As if the Prophet’s clueless?” Mordred retorted, shaking his head. “She knows full well.”

“Huh?” Lee rubbed her neck. “If she knows, then what’s the issue?”

“The issue,” Mordred answered somberly, “is that Mistress is now moving openly beneath the Prophet’s watchful eye. She’s suggesting the Prophet lacks the power to restrain her anymore. And with the Prophet taking no action to halt it… she might well be correct.”

“Should we even worry?” Lee questioned directly. “The Prophet came off as pretty rude. I’m not fond of her.”

Mordred hesitated. “Hold on. You’ve encountered her?”

Lee knew she’d slipped up right then.

“I caught sight of her from a distance,” Lee explained. “While she battled a massive beast.”

Mordred’s brow furrowed. His eyes fixed on Lee briefly. Then he shook his head, looking away. “In response to your query, yes. The Prophet isn’t a benevolent figure. That much holds true. Yet she remains the most powerful mage across the Coral Empire. And should even a single other Faction Head perceive the Prophet as frailer than her projected image…”

“They must have spies, right?” Noah pointed out. “Don’t they know way more than us already?”

“Without a doubt,” Mordred agreed. “This might just be a trap. Proof is essential. Trespassing into a fellow Faction Head’s domain invites inevitable doom. History in Obsidia proves it—outcomes never favor the invader. Thus, no one strikes absent evidence. Still, the rival Faction Heads hover like predators. They’ve done so for ages. Should they verify the Prophet’s true vulnerability as rumored—the fragile peace crumbles. Aqua Terra itself becomes the prize in the ensuing strife.”

“What’s that imply?” Lee inquired, unease creeping in.

“It signifies that any minor falter by the Prophet in this tournament will draw the other Faction Heads to strike,” Mordred warned with subdued horror. “Should battle erupt… the Coral Empire and nearly all inside it face utter devastation.”