Return of the Runebound Professor Chapter 870: Invaders

Vivian rubbed her fingers against the bridge of her nose while peering deep into the swiftly cooling tea inside her crystalline mug. She sensed bags forming beneath her eyes, which simply couldn’t happen. Her youth remained eternally preserved—age had faded into a remote recollection, serving only to tally the years she’d lingered at Rank 8.

Tea usually soothed her frayed nerves. Today, though, it offered scant relief. Not even the hefty dose of liquor she’d blended into it could divert her thoughts. In all honesty, dubbing the mug’s contents as tea stretched the truth far beyond reason. Tea accounted for merely about 10% of the total liquid. No wonder it fell short of its purpose.

A fatigued groan escaped Vivian as she sank deeper into her chair. The rear of her neck pressed against the backrest, and she arched her head to gaze upward at the ceiling. Regrettably, no solutions appeared etched there, just as none hid at the base of her cup.

Merely hours separated them from the tournament’s start. Aqua Terra overflowed with feral small beasts—and numerous enormous ones as well. All of them rabid, without exception. Utterly rabid.

Heads from rival Factions had arrived, alongside Orlen’s band of psychotic vermin and the chaos they dragged in their wake. Crime rates had nearly quadrupled over the past few days. On the bright side, most offenses targeted Mistress’s deliberately positioned decoys. This had, at least, contained the true destruction.

Aqua Terra teemed with formidable mages. The Church deployed in full strength to uphold order and prevent clashing agendas from descending into carnage. Yet it proved insufficient. Concentrating the Empires’ mightiest mages in one place for even a handful of days spelled disaster from every angle.

Then there loomed Mistress herself. Vivian’s lips curled in irritation. That headache could wait for another day—a much more remote one, when she might spare the focus. Her instincts warned that moment lay far off.

Vivian rose from her chair and smoothed her garments. The other Heads awaited her presence. Prolonging her absence grew harder to excuse. To her dismay, she’d endure endless hours in their company, all observing the tournament side by side.

This ritual dated back ages. Officially, it symbolized harmony—Factions halting their feuds briefly to witness their Empires’ supreme accomplishments, demonstrating they weren’t perpetually at war. In reality, it allowed mutual vigilance against any cheating.

A harsh breath burst from Vivian. She shook her head, gave her cheeks a light slap, then gritted her jaw. Daydreaming could wait no longer. Considering everything, a fourfold crime spike was rather mild. Whispers held that the prior tournament had witnessed incidents explode over tenfold.

Vivian’s domain tingled sharply. She whirled around, her expression snapping to composure. Instantly, a figure in ragged black robes materialized before her. A colossal sword, swathed in heavy white bandages, was strapped across their back, rising high above their head.

The Executioner inclined his head just a fraction—a gesture any other would deem defiant. For him, though, it marked the pinnacle of deference one could hope for. Emotions eluded the Executioner entirely—and Vivian scarcely bothered with propriety unless dignitaries observed.

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“You are back later than expected,” Vivian said. “Is it done?”

“No,” the Executioner said. “I have searched the Empire. Your target does not exist. There is no evidence of a Hand belonging to another Faction present. The information you received was incorrect.”

Vivian cocked her head sideways, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Truthfully, this outcome hardly shocked her. The Coral Empire held scant edges in outright battles against most rival Factions—but the Executioner stood as a prime exception.

She trusted his word completely if he declared no signs of other Factions’ Hands lingered anywhere.

“Well done,” Vivian said. “Thank you. Is there anything else you need to report?”

“The Faction Heads are pushing the limits of the treaty. I would be wary. They have not done anything expressly forbidden yet, but their attempts to dig for information are not as subtle as they think. Some of them are not subtle at all.”

“That’s hardly a surprise,” Vivian said with a sigh. “Let the Mistress deal with it. That’s her domain. We can’t spread ourselves any thinner. Not if we want any of our other goals to succeed. What of the other task?”

Octavian hasn't managed to track down the Death Mage effectively. Since their initial clash, no further signs of their magic have appeared. Shall I handle it myself?

Vivian hesitated briefly. Then she shook her head.

Angering Sievan wasn't high on her priorities, yet this demon proved remarkably sensible. He'd grasp that her current duties held greater urgency. Postponing the pursuit of a single Death Mage wouldn't spell disaster.

Moreover, the mage likely planned to show up at the Tournament of Heaven’s Path. That must have been their reason for entering the Coral Empire initially. Should they cast their magic once more, she'd detect it immediately.

“Let it slide for the moment,” Vivian instructed. “Concentrate on our primary objective. Another opportunity like this won't come around anytime soon. We cannot afford to fail.”

“Failure has never been an option,” the Executioner responded.

“Anything more to report?” Vivian inquired. “I'm due for a meeting with the other Faction Heads soon. It'll consume most of my time throughout the tournament. Handle everything except the gravest matters in my absence. Speak now if you require my input. Disruptions during the gathering would paint us as feeble. Avoid that at all costs unless it's unavoidable.”

“Just one issue,” the Executioner answered. “Whispers are circulating. Rumors spreading across the Coral Empire.”

Vivian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “About me?”

“About what lies ahead,” the Executioner explained. “This tournament draws more shadowy players than the last. I'm unsure if every one pursues outright triumph.”

“Nothing novel there,” Vivian sighed. “Have you verified any?”

“Regarding the rumors? Nothing that touches you. However, one thing you tasked me to watch has shifted. Addressing it demands far too much of my focus at present—more than I can spare.”

“What is it?” Vivian pressed. “I've got a short window before facing the other Heads. Perhaps I can resolve it personally and spare us both the hassle.”

“The Apostles.”

“The Apostles? That's scarcely a major threat. They can hardly avoid ripping into one another for even brief spells. How many are there?”

“The precise count eludes confirmation, but their Prophet is on the move. Several Apostles accompany him at minimum. Kyyle ranks among them,” the Executioner reported. “They're nearing Aqua Terra without any effort to conceal their approach.”

Vivian blinked in surprise. The Apostles’ Prophet was a haughty scoundrel, yet never a fool. “He's truly daring to confront me? Right here? Doesn't he see that every other Faction Head will unite behind me to safeguard the tournament? This occasion marks our rare unity. The Tournament matters too much to let some intruder interfere. Let him test his fate. Even united, all Apostles together couldn't prevail.”

“He knows that full well,” the Executioner stated. “Yet I doubt they're here to duel you. Overthrowing you in Aqua Terra would challenge even the mightiest. The Prophet's past moves don't suggest an assault now. It'd be suicidal.”

Vivian’s brow furrowed. The Apostles’ Prophet favored secrecy. He wouldn't parade openly through the Coral Empire without purpose.

Sudden pallor drained her face. Just one alternative explained his timing.

“How close is he?” Vivian demanded, her tone grave, though she suspected the truth.

“Under an hour away,” the Executioner confirmed.

Vivian’s jaw tightened fiercely.

“Damn it,” Vivian spat. “They’re here to join my cursed tournament.”