Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 59 – Floor 6: Part 12

“Magic Bolt!” Bargoth shouted, ending his chanting of the incantation with the spell’s name. A streak of bluish-white lightning shot off from the tip of his staff and streaked across the distance between himself and his opponent.

The older woman, Oriole, was the island's governor and one of the most powerful Psions amongst their delegation. Raising her hand, the Governor formed a glowing shield of Psychic energy in front of her that absorbed the lightning.

Cracking energy discharged from around her, grounding into the wooden floor and leaving black scorch marks.

Bargoth frowned at the ineffectiveness of his attack.

The contest between the pair had started as soon as Marath and Arden had been declared alive and taken away for healing. To recover the shame of the loss, although Mathew considered their fight a draw, the Prince had ordered Bargoth to demonstrate his magical prowess.

Once the Prince intervened and ordered the Magus to participate, Rehn countered by silently asking the Governor to match Bargoth. It became a contest of two wildly different forms of magic, and Mathew watched with interest.

In his basic understanding, Talrandian magic was generally weaker than Amadan Psions. It required years of training, diligent study and complicated incantations or rituals to achieve what a Psion could do with a wave of their hand or a single thought.

But powerful Amadan Psions were rare, and Talrandian Magi far outnumbered them. It became a matter of quantity versus quality.

There was also the centuries of experience the Magi had accumulated in fighting the Psions to be taken into account. Bargoth had a few ways to shorten his incantations, block the Psychic attacks or even counter them. He used one of those methods now.

Oriole waved her hands in a complicated pattern in front of her. Each pass of her palms left a trace of mana until it coalesced into a bolt that shot forward when she pointed her finger at her opponent. The bolt of energy created a roar of sound as it travelled swiftly toward its target.

Not having time to respond with a spell of his own to block it, Bargoth reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a small copper talisman. It looked like a coin on the end of a string. Muttering a short phrase, he tossed it in front of him, where it expanded rapidly into a large, round copper shield.

The bolt of energy struck the shield with the resounding sound of a gong being struck. The copper shield warped slightly in the center, and the bolt shattered into fragments that disappeared harmlessly.

The shield, now blackened, shrunk back to the size of a coin and returned to Bargoth’s hand, where he returned it to a pocket hidden in the sleeve of his robe.

“Hah! Marvelous display, Bargoth! These mind-reading barbarians can’t replicate our artifacts.” The Prince shouted, standing and applauding the performance from the Magus. Irritation by Rehn matched the Prince’s pride, and she shot her future husband a withering look.

It was true, to some degree. Talrandian magic lent itself to creating artifacts as a way to counteract the long casting times of their spells. The disadvantages were the cost and time required to make them.

While the coin had been protecting its owner, Bargoth had been muttering his next spell incantation quietly while occasionally tapping the bottom of his staff on the wooden floor. Each time he did so, a pulse of mana would ripple out from beneath it.

Once the coin was safely back in his sleeve, Bargoth cast the spell.

“Earthen Grip!”

The magic shot forward and surrounded Oriole. Mathew could sense tendrils of magic drilling deep beneath the ground and seizing the earth. Multiple hands made of soil and dirt broke through the wooden floor in seconds.

Fingers reached toward the Psion, caging her in their grip. Seizing her legs and arms, they drug her downwards. More hands ascended from beneath the ground, and soon Oriole disappeared from sight in a mass of earthen hands.

The Talrandians erupted into cheers and applause, to which Bargoth responded with a deep bow to his Prince and the gathered crowd. Running a hand along his long, white beard, the Magus looked at his work with satisfaction.

It wouldn’t break any of the rules. There was no possibility of the hands killing the woman unless she wasn’t released in a timely fashion.

Just as Bargoth was about to undo the magic, the ground began to shake. A blade of pure darkness pierced through the earthen hands, carving their way through the dirt limbs. Once the blade separated them from the ground, they lost their rigidity and formed piles of soil on the wooden floor.

Oriole stepped out of the cage of hands. The sword made of black energy spun around her for a moment before fading away. Mathew looked to Rehn for an explanation.

“Shadow Blade, it was formed from Psionic energy.” Rehn whispered.

The Prince stopped his applause and frowned. Cursing quietly, he quickly glanced at Rehn before returning to his seat. The contest wasn’t going to end so soon, or effortlessly, as he had thought it would.

Bargoth, who had been enjoying the crowd's applause, sought to regain what Oriole had just stolen from him. Flushing red with embarrassment and anger, he switched his long staff to his right hand and reached deeply into the pockets of his red robes.

“You’ve brought this onto yourself!” Bargoth shouted, withdrawing a long, amber rod from within his robes. It was topped with a garnet polished to a shine. Mathew could feel the mana within it, swirling around inside the gem.

“Lightning Bo-” Bargoth was cut off as Oriole held both of her hands up to her temples and closed her eyes. His words faded, and the wand in his hand lowered slightly. His eyes, which had been focused on his target, became distracted.

Blinking rapidly, the red-robbed Magus looked around at his surroundings in wonder. The crowd was silent for a moment before the Prince stood and shouted.

“Bargoth, snap out of it! You fool!”

The crowd joined in, shouting and yelling for the Magus to shrug off whatever trickery the Amadan Governor was using to confuse the Magus, but Rehn just shook her head.

“It’s no use. He believes the illusion is real.”

“What’s happening to him?” Mathew asked. All Oriole had done was close her eyes and concentrate. What powerful Psionic ability was she using that could bypass all of Bargoth’s defences?

“Apparitional Imposition. It creates an illusion that traps its victim within a crafted world. Oriole is powerful, and I doubt any of those present here would know they were trapped before it was too late to escape. It’s harmless but inescapable.” Rehn explained.

“Clever, but if it’s harmless, I don’t see how she is going to defeat him.” Mathew commented, and Rehn gave a slight smirk.

“The illusion is harmless, but he is still in the real world.”

Bargoth, still staring in wonder at a world only he could see, began to slowly walk forward. One foot after another, he reached Oriole, who suddenly snapped her eyes open. As the Magus was blinking, the illusionary world fading from his eyes, the island’s Governor reached forward with her finger and ‘poked’ the Magus in the glabella.

With eyes crossed, the Magus fell backwards onto the ground. Unconscious, his staff hit the ground and began to roll away.

“Nicely done.” Mathew said while the Talrandians were silent, the Amadans were psychically cheering and applauding their victory.

“I believe that’s enough of a showcase of talent for today.” Mathew stated, cutting off the next challenger who was already standing from amongst the crowd. The Prince was about to argue when Mathew stood up.

“I think it's time for the happy couple to say their vows. If you still want to fight after that’s done, you’re more than welcome to.” Mathew ordered.

‘Hopefully, I won’t be around when that happens.’ He thought.