Return of the Wind Mage: A Regression litrpg

14.

“You ready to do this?” Yesi asked, looking pointedly not at Santi. The ring of salt was laid out. The three chosen treasures formed a triangle within the circle, the tub in the center of the triangle. His windchimes had been handed to him by Cameron and the rest of the group stood outside the salt circle looking a mix of worried and curious.

Santi double checked his sister's work and nodded to her. They were ready to go. He wasn’t worried like the others were and his curiosity was only to the point of what the boost to his stats would be. His last evolution had been paid for after the Pillar had arrived and money was being bandied about. A curt man named Greg had done his ritual with little fanfare and nowhere near this level of wealth.

“Just channel a bit of mana into the circle and it’ll start,” Santi said.

“Ok, yeah, but how?” Yesi asked. Santi wanted to smack his head against the tub.

“You have skills that use mana, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, or don’t you?”

“I think I do?”

Santi smacked his head against the back of the tub. The most basic of skills and nobody had it.

“Ok, so, when you like, use a skill. Does it feel like it's being drawn out from your center, or like your limbs?”

“Uhhh…center?”

“Yeah, so use that skill right now and focus on the feeling of power moving through you. Really, really, really, focus.”

Trying to help his sister get the qualifications to become a ritualist or a wizard was taxing. And setting him back. For every moment wasted, more and more of the windchimes strength leaked out.

A hologram spat into being in front of his sister. Scrolls of information sliding across the air. He caught a quick look at the words and realized they were supplies. The hologram disappeared instantly and then snapped back. Four more times Yesi used her skill until she nodded to herself.

“Ok, I feel it. Now what?”

“Think about how it moved and try to get it to move without you activating the skill. Touch the salt as you get it to flow,” Santi tried not to sound exasperated as he waited. The water had grown cold and even with the warmth of the early morning sun he was growing chilled. It took another five minutes of Yesi standing over the salt and nudging it about before it worked.

A golden glow snapped into being as the salt began to burn. Santi felt the flow of power instantly as the ritual began. The riftstone burnt away nearly instantly, flooding the circle with power. The other two treasures dissolved within a moment, swirling about in a streak of blood red and earth brown. The essences of the two treasures began to swirl about his head, caught in the constant breeze the chimes generated.

The edge of the windchimes began to break apart, the wood softening and falling apart in his hands. Emerald green magic leaked out mixing with the red and brown above his head. Santi took a deep breath and slid under the water. It wouldn’t take long now.

Through the watery prism he watched as the power continued to grow above him. A tri-colored storm of power swirled above the tub clouding his sight. A tunnel formed, swirling about in a replica of a tornado. The leading edge touched the surface of the water and power spiked through him.

He was grounded, buried in earth. Immovable and implacable. The weight of the world upon his shoulders in a comforting blanket.

Hot blood pumped through his veins. More than there should be, more pressure in his chest. A bursting vitality that could not be contained. The energy of a god waiting to spring from its throne in a whirlwind of activity.

Air. Freedom and life. Touching the world but not being bound. Dancing across the plains and over the mountains and seas.

Santi’s body became rigid as he couldn’t move. This was a much more intense experience than the last time he had evolved. Closer in intensity to the time he had moved from Acolyte to Disciple. Pain encompassed him, drowning as his body began to dissolve in the waters as more and more of the whirlwind entered the tub.

His mind frayed, breaking apart in pain. If he had lungs he would have screamed. Flesh peeled away from bone, bone dissolved in a slurry as the waters became clouded with his purging.

“Ohhh, I see you little one,” Akthyr murmured in his ear. His voice wasn’t its previous drunken slur.

Santi couldn’t look or change what he saw. He could feel the massive presence of the powerful Grandmaster. It made the process of his evolution ritual seem faint and trivial. It suppressed the world around him, making the pain bearable.

“Hello, Akthyr,” Santi thought.

“My favorite little pain in the ass. How do you like your toy?”

“The morph blade?”

“Ohhh, don’t think of it as a blade. That limits its potential. And is frankly insulting with how much effort I put in to get it to you.”

“Why are you helping me?” Santi was thinking furiously why the administrator cared at all about him. Akthyr had told him that he didn’t care for how much work the multiple regression cost him. How it stripped his future wealth from him. He had said nothing about helping him.

“Politics. Self-serving goals. The like. You’re just one of the many pawns I’m using. You’re holding up remarkably well compared to some of the others.”

“What do you mean?”

“I keep forgetting that you’re not the brightest.”

“No need for insults.”

“Not an insult. Just an observation. Have you observed anything strange about this round?”

“Lots of weird shit. Strong monsters, more monster dens, stuff like that?”

“Correct. Localized effects are harder to do than you’d think. I’m actually quite impressed with myself. Boosting mana levels and guiding rifts toward certain areas is tough, but I’m brilliant.”

His words were echoes in his mind and had begun to grow faint. Santi’s time as a disembodied consciousness was coming to an end.

“The Patron. The one the Apostates serve. Who is he? What does he want?”

“How would I know? He has ascended. I am to him what you are to me, a cockroach. The wills and desires of those so far above are vast and incomprehensible.”

“You truly have no idea what he wants?”

“None. Though I suspect I know what the Apostates want from him.”

That was a secret that many had died for. The traitors had betrayed humanity and earth, aligning themselves with their Patron. Power of course was an answer, but was it the only answer? Something that the Council of Champions had argued about frequently.

“And?”

“I think they didn’t like what was being done to their world by your faction. I think they didn’t like being without power. I think some of them just didn’t like being told what to do.”

“So, what? We had a massive war because a handful of people didn’t like what the Champions did?” Santi couldn’t understand that. The Champions had been just that, champions. They had fought and protected humanity from the scourge of the invasions, monsters, beasts, cleared rifts and tamed dungeons. Without their strength all of North America would have fallen to chaos.

“Wars have been fought over less. I really wasn’t paying too much attention to you guys. The stuff going on in Asia and the Mediterranean was much more entertaining.”

“More entertaining than an Ascended’s plotting?”

“Frankly? Yes. He wasn’t the only Ascended playing around on your planet last time. Or this time.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Look at that? Time’s up. Enjoy your new body!” Akthyr gave a fake jolly chuckle and his presence vanished.

Santi became aware of the pain just as it faded away. This full fledged reconstitution was much more intense than the simple purging he had experienced last time.

He surged up and out of the tub, gasping for air. It was sweeter than before, more nuanced. Even with the first breath he could tell it was different. Something that went beyond heightened perception.

He heard people groaning and gagging around him as he swiped at the layer of gunk that covered his eyes. He couldn’t see, his eyes pasted close. Water washed over him in a wave and Santi nearly collapsed under the overstimulation. He washed his face as well as he could, as another bucket was dropped over his head.

“Santi, you stink dude,” Cam said from somewhere above him. Santi was trying his hardest not to think of the fact he did stink terribly. When his body had reconstituted it had left behind all of the imperfections of his past.

Oils, dirt, dead skin, plaque, excess fats, and anything else that had been deemed an impurity. He had been refined to a degree that he didn’t think was possible. With a bit of time he could practice more, learn just how well his body worked. How well it could fully use the stats he had acquired.

Another wave of water washed over him and he finally cleared his eyes and looked at himself. He was coated in a black film from head to toe, a pungent odor wafting off of him. Everyone had backed off aside from Tank and Cam, both looking like they wanted to back away but still standing close.

“Bianca, we need another scrub brush,” Cam said. He didn’t sound as enthused this time as he had last time. Santi spat out a curse as he huddled down to endure another scrubbing.