Book 9, Chapter 93

Sacred Prince

Richard was currently in Syon’s library, reading through a book that seemed to be the prince’s diary. All around him were various collections of art, literature, poetry, and sculptures, things that could be sold in Norland at sky-high prices, but he was constantly muttering in annoyance that the level 23 elf was pathetic for a swordsman. The prince had a number of good legendary skills, but his swordsmanship was flashy and imprecise, lacking the utility of someone used to actual combat.

He was certain that every one of his legendary followers would handily beat Syon in battle, maybe even kill him outright. Given that knowledge, the fact that many of the art pieces and literary works here came from Syon’s hand enraged him to no end; were the prince willing to spend half that time on the sword, he would have managed to parry at least one strike.

“This is only normal, Your Excellency,” Princess Mina said from the side, watching the distant Greyhawk stare at each of the pieces with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, “Syon was over 800 years old, and he had no pursuits at all. This is true for most of elven society; even the ancient elven empire considered the pursuit of art a tradition. Almost every powerhouse from them dabbled in at least one of the arts.”

“You know a lot,” Richard looked at the diary in her hand, “But why would they be so dumb?”

Seeing that she had aroused his interest, Mina smiled, “Elves are different from us humans. They are born with strong bloodlines and long lives; even the most talentless of them reach level 4 or 5 without spending any effort, and they live a century or longer. Their legends live for millennia, so they naturally need something to pass the time with. Without any other challenges, almost all of the high elves love art.”

“How on earth do they not have challenges?” Richard grumbled. He had been fighting ever since he entered the Deepblue, going from battlefield to battlefield, plane to plane. Daxdians, demons, dragons… his entire history had been written amidst the battlefield. It was true that the ancient elven empire had ruled almost all of Norland, but that only meant their enemies were mainly external. Wouldn’t they be busy working on the battlefields of despair and developing planes?

Mina smiled, “They’re born with everything one could need, why would they have our desire? They never focused on new planes, but we’re different. We want to put everything we see into our pockets.”

He thought about it for a moment before nodding, “That makes sense, but then Lithgalen might be even weaker than I expected.”

“And is that not a good thing?” she rolled her eyes.

“I guess.”

With this newfound knowledge, Richard stopped whining about all the art and continued looking through the palace. He quickly found Syon’s private warehouse, chancing upon enough materials to make five saint runes. This left him tutting with more annoyance; in terms of materials alone, this was well beyond what most level 23 legends would have had in Norland.

In the end, Richard didn’t take any of Syon’s treasure, only a strange collection of poems that seemed to contain the power of laws. They seemed to be written by a bard called Eversong, sharing his insights through the manuscript and allowing others to gain insight into his words. This was especially useful for him; he could slowly draw out Eversong’s remnant spirituality from this poetry, designing a new grade 5 rune based around his laws. Outside of that, he only took a box of leaves from the world tree before continuing into the elven empire.

Just as predicted, they met a number of opponents along the way. However, a 30,000-strong army might have been huge to the elves, but it was nothing to him. Their attempted assault failed entirely, and they lost thousands of bodies to him alone before they ran away. This battle barely harmed his forces at all, but an entire tribe was destroyed.

It was only after that crushing victory that Richard met his first real opponent in Lithgalen. As an elf flew over to the sky, he raised his hand to stop Greyhawk and Waterflower, “Mine.”

The two immediately fell back, understanding that the opponent this time would be an epic being. Both Greyhawk and Waterflower were fierce, but even combined they couldn’t stand up to opponents of that level yet. Richard himself flew up to block the elf’s way.

“I am High Prince Casir,” the elf introduced himself as he looked Richard up and down, “I am here to check your qualifications to trade with the Empire.”

At 2.2 metres, Cassie was fairly tall and strong. The pair of swords around his waist made it clear that he was a warrior, and his long golden hair had been braided and knotted so it wouldn’t interfere in battle. Richard thought for a moment before bringing up the relevant information, “High Prince Casir, initially an assassin who later turned into a sword saint. Skilled at double blades.”

“Well-versed,” Casir said indifferently, “But that will not stop your failure.”

“And after I fail?”

“Speak of what you want. Leave the branch behind, and I will ensure that someone sends what you desire back to Norland. But all humans who set foot on Lithgalen will die.”

“Better than I expected,” Richard scoffed, allowing the prince to pull out his two swords. An oppressive aura spread out a kilometre in all directions, but outside of Waterflower and Greyhawk, the others felt nothing at all.

Mina looked at the two people in the sky and couldn’t help but whisper to Greyhawk, “Is that guy supposed to be very strong? I don’t feel anything from him.”

Greyhawk didn’t answer, instead pointing at a falling leaf in the distance. Just as Mina saw this leaf, it suddenly split into two halves that continued to float down. Her heart immediately went cold.

The silent confrontation eventually ended up with Casir on the offensive. The prince shot forward with incredible speed that most legends couldn’t hope to contend with; unless one was prepared, they were likely to get beheaded instantly.

However, a dull clang rang out as the two blades were blocked by Richard’s sword. Richard himself looked completely relaxed and indifferent, but Casir’s eyes went wide in shock, “How do you have Moonlight?!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Richard flicked his wrist, turning the sword lightly to knock away both attacks before pointing it at Casir’s chest. The prince immediately retreated, his swords suddenly sparking as blows started to rain on Richard.

Richard remained calm, only moving the minimum amount he needed to to block the blows. Moonlight’s slashes suddenly seemed extremely delicate, parrying hundreds upon hundreds of attacks every second. He remained on the defensive, where it looked like he would be stabbed several times if he made the slightest mistake, but it was equally true that the slightest slowdown from Casir would lead to a deadly counter.

But this wasn’t just a contest of speed and sword skill. The two were also fighting over the laws in the region, with Casir trying to manipulate and slow Richard repeatedly. It was just that Richard thwarted him every time, leaving him more and more afraid of relaxing his attack. He quickly realised that even the slightest of freedom would allow Richard to start suppressing him entirely.

The two thus turned into invisible streaks in the sky, so fast that people couldn’t even follow their afterimages. Only the constant screech of steel on steel reminded them that there was a battle between plane-shattering powers just above them, with either party being strong enough to kill them all.