Chapter 39: Homecoming

"He has done it!"

In an instant of tumult, several souls suspended in the ethereal interface outside the laboratory felt a powerful suction force, followed by a prolonged dizziness of consciousness, only to awaken once more, finding themselves back in their own bodies. Serla and Anael exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with ecstatic joy.

They could only repeat in disbelief, "He has done it! He truly has!"

A mere apprentice mage had overturned a quasi-legendary creature that had lived for nearly four thousand years!

"There's no time, we must leave this place quickly." The laboratory door was thrust open, and a middle-aged man with chestnut hair strode in.

"Are you Elder Ochreus?" Serla spoke up. "Where is Mr. Shawn?"

"We will find him on the top floor," Ochreus replied. With a stronger grasp over souls, he could slightly delay their return to their bodies. Seeing the last moment when Panney stumbled out of the laboratory and briefly communicated, he said, "He went to the central control core to activate the self-destruct system."

"Then we should hasten our departure."

The group swiftly left the small room, making their way to the upper levels.

...

A tearing pain, accompanied by a chaotic onslaught that rendered the mind utterly confused.

This agony, Saggaba Pascal had forgotten for nearly four thousand years!

The "mouse's" claws easily pierced through layer upon layer of magical barriers, tearing apart his soul-linking runes. This attack nearly splintered his soul into fragments, causing a strong shock to his connection with the magical network. Most spell slots and maintained magical effects were immediately interrupted. This pain accompanied him from dizziness to awakening, unconsciously drifting back to the long-abandoned body of his old vessel. Upon regaining consciousness, however, he sensed that both the connection to his body and the magical network had been severed by a strange yet familiar consciousness.

"It's you! The emotional refuse I discarded! Get out of my way!" Saggaba Pascal's emotions towards the apparition were filled with uncontrollable anger. "I will kill that boy!"

"Tragic..." the apparition sighed, "Emotional refuse, you still don't understand what you have truly lost..."

"What have I lost? You should thank me, otherwise, you pitiful waste would never have appeared. Yet now you dare to obstruct me?!"

"Waste? Tragedy... Oh well..." the apparition sighed again, "So, what purpose do you serve then?"

"I..." The artificer was immediately tongue-tied, this question causing a tumult in his emotions.

"See, you are even more pitiful than me, not even knowing why you exist," the apparition sighed for the third time, "I remember philosophers call this kind of existence 'living dead,' oh, but you've even discarded your flesh, truly tragic."

"Shut up! Shut up!" The artificer's soul twitched several times, angrily roaring, "Nuisance, stop asking these nonsensical questions!"

He frantically attacked the apparition suppressing him, but the severely weakened soul suffered heavy blows, and after several attempts, all his efforts were in vain, only to hear the mocking voice of the apparition, "Discussing the meaning of existence has become nonsensical? It seems you still haven't awakened..."

The apparition gradually dissipated, approaching the suppressed soul entity, "All that you've been constantly discarding... is yourself..."

A flood of past memories entered Saggaba Pascal's soul entity, in an instant, familiar scenes of bygone times.

Childhood in the small town, the imperial capital, magnificent palaces, skies ablaze, and the ultimate dispersal and silence...

Scene after scene flowed through the artificer's consciousness, barriers before his soul dissipated, and he opened his eyes with a hint of bewilderment, two lines of murky liquid streaming down his withered cheeks.

The ground tremors intensified, chaotic energies burst forth from the continuously appearing spatial rifts, and the collapse of the demi-plane began.

...

Panini's fingers withdrew from the center of the self-destruct device, straightening his posture as he walked toward the teleportation array on the other side. Inside, the holy warrior, the witch, the elder, and the bard were all prepared. He stepped into it, invoking the hidden magical force within. Another burst of intense light engulfed their vision as they materialized inside the elder's residence, now reduced to ruins. Reflecting on the heart-pounding events of the past three days, they looked at each other's disheveled appearances, a sense of relief washing over them like survivors of a calamity.

"Ah, this is truly an epic tale," Anael's expression shifted, suddenly breaking into a joyful smile. "If woven into poetry, I would instantly gain fame! Do you know? A mere low-ranking mage, locked in a battle of wits with an ancient monster, emerging victorious in the end! Those age-old tales of heroes slaying dragons to save princesses, compared to this, are mere trifles!"

"You can compose poetry?" Panini scrutinized Anael skeptically.

"Don't forget, I am a bard; it's my vocation," the bard boasted proudly. "I am skilled in the art of verse."

"Oh, my apologies," Panini nodded disrespectfully. "I always thought your profession was more akin to that of a rogue or a thief."

"Such insolence!" The bard glared at the nonchalant mage in irritation. "You should know that you are the protagonist of this tale! I am merely ensuring your renown!"

"I never considered myself a protagonist," Panini shrugged, but noticing Serra giving him a meaningful look, he gestured subtly to the holy warrior.

"Sir Sean, I wish to express my gratitude. You saved my life," Serra said, her face flushing.

"I was merely saving my own life."

"It's not like that; you had another choice entirely," Serra continued. "It was we who exposed you to greater dangers, especially my recklessness..."

"This has nothing to do with you," Panini smiled faintly. "No one is born adventurous."

"Indeed, I am far from being deemed a proficient Hand of Tyr, still needing to continue my studies," Serragrophia said solemnly. "Sir Sean is the epitome and exemplar for us all."

"Me?" Panini's face twitched strangely.

"Of course, your wisdom, courage, and noble character."

"Let's not dwell on that..." Panini felt a sudden surge of warmth beneath the surface of his facial skin at such praise, hastily waving it off in embarrassment.

"In any case, I shall never forget this experience," Serra assured earnestly. "I will surely repay you."

"The Witch will indeed remember your kindness, Sir Sean," the witch Sallyfain bowed to Panini, while the elder Ockruss, smiling, stroked his beard nearby. It was only then that Panini had a moment to carefully observe this elder, whom he had heard but not seen before—a gray simple robe, brown hair and beard tangled like vines around his neck, resembling a common forest dweller, yet his pair of emerald eyes bespoke wisdom, indicating the passage of many years. He looked kindly at Panini. "Young man, I thank you for sparing an old life and allowing me to continue contributing to the creatures of Lætherman."

"Let's discuss these matters later," Panini sensed the impending cloying sentimentality from these people, hastily clearing his throat. "We still have important matters to attend to. Let's not forget the villagers at the outpost are still under attack by trolls."

"Indeed, Elder," the witch Sallyfain's complexion changed, suddenly as cacophonous roars resounded from all sides, with numerous trolls appearing around them.

Panini, Serra, and Anael all paled. At this moment, they were unexpectedly besieged by trolls!

The elder stepped forward, pulling out a staff adorned with a dirty green gemstone, raising it high. The trolls immediately ceased their howls, becoming eerily silent. Ockruss uttered a few words in the language of giants, and the trolls immediately bowed towards the staff before dispersing.

A group of individuals stood in astonishment, especially Panini, witnessing the elder's ability to command the trolls, evoking in his mind a sense of the mystical aura reminiscent of a certain breed of tortoise.

"Within lies the soul of an ancient forest troll ancestor," Ockruss wiped the green gemstone atop his staff, furrowing his brow. "Their intelligence is limited, yet they possess an innate reverence for this gemstone. Oddly, I recall there not being so many trolls nearby."

"Your wisdom is unparalleled, but please, let us defer this matter for a while," the witch Sallyfain complimented convincingly, though her next words betrayed an underlying urgency. "We ought to return to the outpost swiftly."

Hurriedly making their way back to the Madiel Outpost, they found it in ruins, shrouded in thick smoke, indicating a recent fierce battle. Trolls seemed to have just withdrawn, and some warriors sat resting on the ground atop the walls.

However, atop the walls were also some familiar faces, equipped with silver-armored longswords. Unlike the scattered appearance of the berserkers, despite their exhaustion and bloodstained bodies, their postures while resting were solemn and upright. Upon seeing the newcomers below the walls, their eyes lit up.

Panini narrowed his eyes, recognizing the Tyr Paladin who had come with Serra, indicating that they had finally found their way here.

Upon seeing them, Serra's steps faltered slightly.

Kamajo descended from the wall, issuing a stern reprimand, "Serra, the apprentice warrior. You disobeyed orders, acted on your own, and caused us to search for you for three whole days."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm willing to accept punishment," Serra stepped forward, bowing incessantly.

"I will consider your punishment, but first, tell us what you've been up to," Kamajo said, his expression softening. "It's a relief to see you unharmed."

"Captain..." Seeing the comforting expressions of the fellow paladins who had accompanied her, Serra's eyes welled up with gratitude.

"Esteemed elder, noble witch, you have finally returned," exclaimed a group of bedraggled berserkers upon seeing their leaders return, each breathing a sigh of relief, then eagerly inquiring, "Have you found a solution?"

The villagers from the outpost also emerged, their eyes filled with anticipation as they gazed upon the returning party.

Faced with these expectant gazes, Sallyfain heaved a sigh of relief and raised her hands, proclaiming loudly, "Fear not, everyone. We have overcome the adversity, and the trolls will no longer trouble us!"

The warriors and residents within the outpost erupted into excited cheers, their voices echoing through the surrounding forest, startling a few arctic birds into flight.

...

Though the recent calamity had left the outpost ravaged and many casualties behind, lingering issues persisted. However, the people of the north, forged in the crucible of the icy tundra, possessed a resilient and optimistic character. The resolution of the troll problem was indeed a cause for celebration in their hearts. They lit bonfires and indulged in revelry, while amidst the festivities, inquiries were inevitably made about the events leading up to their return.

Panini and the others tacitly omitted most of the details, as the information about ancient machinists was too sensational. They even persuaded the female paladin to keep this matter concealed. After all, while truthfulness was encouraged within the order's tenets, silence was also an option.

However, during the celebration, everyone subtly shifted the credit to Panini. The berserkers, observing Panini's slender frame, couldn't help but notice that he was actually the weakest among them. Yet, seeing the unwavering confidence of the others, they raised their glasses to Panini in gratitude. Even the paladin Kamajo, holding a goblet, expressed his thanks to Panini, saying, "I had assumed that a friend of a bard would be unreliable, but I heard that you valiantly protected Serra's safety."

"She esteems me too highly," Panini modestly chuckled. He wasn't accustomed to being the center of attention, nor did he possess a strong tolerance for alcohol. After consuming several cups of the potent northern spirits, he began to feel a slight dizziness creeping over him.

Inebriated berserkers, suddenly remembering the comrades lost in the past few days, lamented to the witch and the elder, "Noble witch! We must demand an explanation from Musan Thiel! Why have our numerous messengers failed to garner even the slightest aid? Even if some had been sent, couldn't they have protected the villagers and escorted them to safety?"

"Yes! Both of you! We must demand answers!" cried the berserkers, recalling the hardships endured over the past fortnight.

The witch and the elder exchanged sighs, acknowledging the urgency of the matter. It directly impacted the reputation of the Leitherman Witch Society among the people of the North. This journey to Musan Thiel was now imperative.

"The unusual number of trolls nearby presents a challenge, and my staff may struggle to contend with them. Perhaps, in a few days, we should relocate the villagers to the vicinity of Musan Thiel. It would also provide an opportunity to assess the situation in the Sixth Osler," the elder suggested. The witch nodded in agreement, and thus, a decision was made.

Nightfall swiftly descended upon the Northern lands.