The Veiled Man
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Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 81
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 16:00:11 +0000 UTCChapter 81: Plans Against the Outer God Cult
Riasmin was holding Iaskin by the collar, jerking him back and forth while interrogating him. As things progressed, the air tasted like copper and burnt ozone, and my brother’s fist connected with my sister’s face.
A sickening crack echoed through the ritual chamber—not bone breaking, but magic shattering under raw panic. “Hah?” Her head snapped back as blood streaked from her nose down that sharp jawline of hers. For half a heartbeat, she looked almost proud of him.
Bad move. Makes sense since he’s scared, I realized numbly as fire bloomed around his knuckles—wild flames licking at runes that hissed where they met blood-painted walls. He thinks we think he’s a demon, and we’re going to kill him.
“Wait, stop!” My voice cut through Lilian’s snarl as she lunged forward as if to stop him from punching again, but too late.
Iaskin was already across the room in three quick strides fueled by desperation rather than skill. His back pressed against those writhing symbols like cornered prey facing wolves who forgot their own packmate’s scent. His eyes darted between us all in panic; Nebula poised like an executioner mid-sentence behind me, Solara blocking any escape through shadows, and Lilian bristling with lunar energy at my left flank.
In the meantime, Riasmin straightened slowly near my right side while smearing crimson across her sleeve like war paint. She laughed low in her throat when she saw me shrug at the whole situation.
“Good hit,” she told our brother casually while rolling her shoulders loose again, as if this were just another sparring match gone too far between siblings who loved each other too much for caution or mercy alike… until golden grains began trickling free from beneath one ornate cuff around her wrist onto floorboards below them both…
Oh.
Grandfather’s spatial bracelet glinted under torchlight now, spilling its stored desert onto polished wood planks between us all. She rarely used it, for she could call forth sand from underground as long as she was outdoors. Spatial Treasures were very costly, and she used hers for storing sand.
Suddenly everything moved faster than breath could follow.
Sand surged upward around ankles before coiling snake-like up legs. They hardened then, until even flames couldn't burn them away, tightening relentlessly despite Iaskin’s struggles. His fear was born more from terror than true defiance here.
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait—” His voice cracked high enough for childhood memories buried deep within chest cavities long since scarred over by duty expectations, nobility, etcetera, etcetera—
Then knees hit the floorboards hard enough to make Nebula wince beside me despite herself…
Silence fell heavy, save for ragged breathing echoing off walls still crawling red ink. The scene was lit beneath flickering torchlight, casting shadows longer than the truth itself. Rias clicked her tongue once sharply, then crossed her arms expectantly over her chest that had earned a dark stain where nosebleed dripped.
“Speak.”
The sand tightened around my brother’s throat until his words came out strangled—half plea, half curse. "I’m not a demon!" His fingers clawed at golden grains that crawled up his neck. It looked like a sentient hourglass runoff made manifest by our sister’s wrathful magic. "They gave me stones…[Skill Stones]… said it was just another path—"
Riasmin flicked her wrist sharply upward; sand coiled into his mouth mid-sentence until he gagged on desert grit instead of excuses. She clearly had no patience for any more tonight.
"Let him speak, Sis," I said quietly, even though every instinct screamed this was already spiraling beyond control between us siblings. Siblings who once shared nothing heavier than stolen sweets under palace tables. Wasn’t she going too far for a mere act?
The grains, which were now cracked bloody, fell away reluctantly from his lips. He breathed heavily and spat sandy saliva onto the floor below.
“What Level are you, Demon?” she asked, voice hardened.
"I am not a demon, sis! And I am Level 70." He glared up through sweat-matted bangs that clung stubbornly despite everything else falling apart here now.
“How?” she followed. “You were Level 47 not long ago, stuck on 4th Ascension for months. How did you jump so high, almost touching the 6th Ascension?”
Iaskin breathed heavily as he met our sister’s gaze. I was starting to realize how strict and dangerous my sister could be, but thankfully it was Iaskin getting punished. "...Because they have these things—flesh pits full of creatures that don’t fight back…don’t scream even when you carve them apart for EXP. The cult members are allowed to kill them if they complete missions, and in exchange, we level up a lot faster."
Lilian’s tail was lashing behind her when he spoke, and his words made her tail freeze. She stilled entirely as if frozen mid-strike by sheer revulsion alone. I could tell what she was thinking, for she’d reported to me about this before.
"Those fleshy creatures… They’re people," she whispered hoarsely while Nebula took an involuntary step back from us. "Processed… people. They’re stripped down into meat for slaughterhouse farming disguised as Level Up shortcuts…”
Silence pooled thicker than blood for a long moment. Solara broke it first with a choked sound halfway between a retch and a disbelieving cough, covering her face as if to hold back vomiting. "You farmed humans? Like livestock?!" She shouted.
“I- I didn’t know!" My brother’s voice cracked high enough to shatter glass. But truth tasted fouler than lies ever could when swallowed whole under duress like this.
Riasmin scowled, crossing her arms. She looked at Lilian but didn’t look doubtful. Lilian helped me explain the situation to her, sharing some details about the cult. Her gaze then moved to me as if asking me for ideas on what to do.
Iaskin’s eyes met mine then, pleading silently in ways words failed to convey. I ignored it and brought up a different topic. "Avenora," I said flatly while watching a flinch ripple through him at the name. "She’s their priestess?"
He looked unsure momentarily, then shook his head stiffly before adding hastily, "She's just one of their representatives for the academy. The Priests are far stronger than her, although I never met one in person.”
I watched Riasmin cover her face with her hands, exhaling a long, tired breath into her palms. The red symbols on the walls pulsed slower now, their glow dimming as the tension in the room shifted.
“Stupid bastard.” When she looked up again, her expression had softened from rage to something more complicated. The golden sand around Iaskin's throat loosened and fell away, scattering across the floor like spilled sunlight. "Just so you know, I already knew you weren't a demon," she said, her voice rough. "This was just the best way to confront you and scare you straight.”
“Oh…”
“Though honestly?" She shook her head. "After hearing all this, I might as well have thought you were possessed if it wasn't for Iskandaar and his maid warning me beforehand. What did you think those flesh creatures were?"
Before any of us could react, she stepped forward and slapped Iaskin hard across the face. The sound cracked through the chamber like a whip, making even Nebula flinch. But then Riasmin's hand settled gently on his shoulder, a touch so careful it seemed to hurt him more than the slap had.
"I'm disappointed in you," she said quietly. "Looking for shortcuts to power? You should have known better. Should have guessed something was wrong there." Her fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder. "You're smarter than this, Iaskin. You have to be, knowing what family you’re from. What do you think grandfather would say if he heard this?"
My brother's head dropped, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the words barely audible in the heavy silence. Then his head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes. "But what do I do now, Sis?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it’s not. I... I can't just leave the cult, they'd come after me. What do I do?!"
Riasmin frowned. The other three girls in the room exchanged glances, unsure if they should comment anything here. I watched my siblings, feeling the weight of this moment grow into a headache.
The red symbols on the walls continued their eerie dance, casting strange shadows across Iaskin's terrified face.
****
A lot was going on in my head as the evening darkened after confronting Iaskin. I left that group behind to find someone who could actually help us here. It still tasted like ash in my mouth as I considered the whole situation and how Iaskin must be feeling right now, but one couldn’t rewind their mistakes.
As I walked toward Chancellor Duskleaf’s office through dew-damp academy paths, students instinctively scurried away from me. Even seniors seemed pressed flat against walls by whatever storm cloud expression I wore these days.
Quite the change from my initial impression, I thought as Professor Valmyre nodded curtly as I passed by him in the hallway.
The chancellor's office’s polished oak door stood slightly ajar when I arrived—no wards humming today—but instead of finding sharp purple eyes behind that desk…
[Sathari Nezehra, Level 38]
She’d leveled up quite a bit since I last saw her. As she lounged in Amelia's chair like it was some sun-warmed rock back home, her purple-scaled tail coiled around mahogany wood, and her filing claws clicked against records parchment she had no business touching.
"My," she purred without looking up from the pages spread across the table with wood stained darker than the cult secrets we'd uncovered last night. "If it isn't classmate Romani… Here for story time again? Or looking for the chancellor?"
Is she trying to learn how to talk from Amelia too? I held back a flirtatious reply that popped into my head far too fast for my liking and cleared my throat. "Ah, the latter. Where is she?"
Those golden serpentine eyes finally lifted above the magic book she was reading. "She’s back home early today.”
The sun had already dipped below the horizon, so it was understandable. My jaw flexed once in slight annoyance that I had to walk so far before turning sharply toward the exit archway framed by stained glass dragons. Amused words slithered after me like a pet cobra freed, "Vissssiting her place this late? Don’t get caught.”
“....” That got me wondering what she thought of our relationship.
****
A few minutes later, I was in front of Amelia’s lavish estate, the same expensive villa nestling beside a breathtaking lake. The vibe here was as calm and tranquil as the last time I visited. Bricks glowed poison purple beneath late moonlight rays while the sound of cicadas filled the air.
I had to knock thrice before a familiar voice chimed through. "Ah-ah! Who’s bothering me at this time of the day?"
There was no way she didn’t already know it was me; she must have sensed me, yet she played silly games. Golden light spilled outward alongside steam billowing herbal-scent bathhouse clouds, revealing a figure swathed with plush towels barely covering her thigh dimples still damp from soak...
Brown blonde hair stuck against her neck, her tender flesh still flushed pink in heat, and her lips curved into a wicked crescent moon smile as she tapped her cheekbone. "My, my, what is this? In the middle of the night, interrupting a lady’s bath unannounced? How bold you’ve grown, boy..."
Somehow, all my tension and worry loosened in front of this woman as I chuckled with a shake of my head. It was always like this with her – no matter how serious the situation, she made me feel like a fumbling student again.
Maybe it was those knowing eyes or that infuriating smile that said she could see right through my attempts at composure.
The tension in my shoulders unwound the moment her smirk hit me. Damned if Amelia didn’t know exactly how to defuse a crisis without lifting a finger, even though she did a poor job with Eryndor. "You’re early for our midnight trysts," she purred, leaning against the doorframe. A single droplet slid from her collarbone down into towel-covered territory. "But I’ll allow it. Come in, little demon."
Shaking my head, I followed her inside, boots clicking against marble floors that smelled faintly of lavender oil.
She padded barefoot toward the bathing chamber without glancing back, hips swaying like a pendulum designed to hypnotize. The towel slipped dangerously low as she paused at the threshold. "Don’t peek," she warned, though the lilt in her voice suggested the opposite.
I swear, she’s doing that intentionally. I sank into her velvet sofa, chuckling despite myself. Gods, she’s insufferable.
The muffled splash of water resumed, steam curling under the door like beckoning fingers. My mind unspooled briefly, slipping into a fantasy for a moment before I reeled it back. This wasn’t the time.
She emerged ten minutes later, swathed in silk the color of twilight, her hair still damp and smelling of desert jasmine. The fabric caught the light as she moved, shifting between deep purple and midnight blue. My fingers tightened on the armrest, but I kept my expression carefully neutral.
That was not how a professor should be dressed before a student, the robes barely clinging to her shoulders, split in the middle.
“Apologies for the wait," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Hungry?"
Before I could answer, she vanished into her kitchen and returned with a lacquered box. Inside lay six amber-hued pastries, their flaky crusts shimmering with crystallized sugar. "Sharan honeycakes," she announced, nudging the box toward me. "Dragonflower pollen, moonmint, and honey from hives that nest in sand wyrm bones. My cousins send them whenever I’m homesick. Sit down."
“Aren’t wyrms a type of dragon too? I think this is cannibalism for you,” I said, taking a seat as I bit into one. The crust dissolved like crushed starlight, giving way to a molten center that tasted like liquid sunlight filtered through summer storms. "Fuck," I breathed, licking golden residue from my thumb. "That’s illegal."
Her laugh was low, pleased. "I’ll take that as a compliment. Now—" She folded herself into the armchair opposite me, legs tucked beneath her. "What’s stolen your sleep tonight? Other than me, I mean."
The honey turned to ash on my tongue. I set the half-eaten pastry down and dropped the bomb without waiting for theatrics. "Ever heard of The Outer God Cult? They’ve been recruiting a bunch of your students. Average-performing ones, and then offering them accelerated leveling."
Her playful smirk died. "What?"
"Yes. They’ve leveled up more in weeks than what is normal for years."
A muscle jumped in her jaw. "Who in particular?"
"I’ll tell you after I’m done explaining everything."
Her eyes narrowed. Gold flickered in their violet depths—draconic ire simmering beneath the surface. "Go on, then.”
"I expect you to trust that I’m handing you a knife before the battle starts." I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "They’re using… processed humans… turning them into idle flesh monsters, and then using them as EXP fodder. Flesh pits disguised as training grounds."
The air crackled. Her claws—sheathed a moment ago—pierced the armrests. "Where?"
"Close." I held her gaze. "And they’ve got agents here. One posing as a third-year."
She surged to her feet in a rustle of silk. "Names, Iskandaar."
“Avenora, no last name, so I assume she’s a commoner. Level 90.” I said, watching her eyes narrow.
“More,” she said. “You know more. There’s someone who you know personally in this. Who is that?”
"No."
"No?" Her voice dropped to a growl that vibrated in my molars. "You think this a game? You saw what happened last time! Somehow you always know stuff, but you won’t tell me until it’s too late to do anything, Iskandaar!"
I leaned back into the chair, meeting her glare. "...You can think of me as a villain if you want, but I have my reasons. Didn’t you say you trust me?"
For a heartbeat, I thought she might actually breathe fire. Then she exhaled sharply through her nose, the gold fading from her eyes. "...You’re protecting someone."
I said nothing. I couldn’t possibly get Iaskin involved openly. Amelia might listen to my request and try to keep him out, but I couldn’t be sure.
Her lips twitched—not quite a smile. "Fine. But when this explodes—"
"—I’ll be the first covered in gore. Yeah, I know." I grabbed the half-eaten honeycake, biting into it more forcefully than necessary. "Thanks for the snacks."
She watched me chew, arms crossed. "Why’re you saying it like that? You’re staying for dinner."
It wasn’t a question.
The honeycake once again melted in my mouth. I swallowed it down, a smile returning to my lips at her words. Anybody else, and they’d have skinned me alive to spill out more. But not her. "Of course," I said, dusting sugar from my fingers. "I'm not leaving just yet. There's a lot more to tell you."
Amelia's eyebrow arched, the golden light from the floating lanterns catching the subtle scales along her hairline. "And here I thought you would keep it vague this time too. Do enlighten me."
"Nah, I’ll tell you a lot more this time. Lilian tracked one of their bases, a flesh pit, to the Glasswood Marshes." I leaned forward, elbows digging into my knees. "I’ll give you the exact coordinates before I leave, and you need to leak that to every Church in the city and every big-shot that came to visit the Academy to see the aftermath of the Demon attack. Especially the New Hero Assembly."
Her claws tapped an uneven rhythm against her teacup. "The Assembly? Why them in particular?"
"Well, they’re strong. Tell them the cult nearly turned one of their precious hero descendants into EXP fodder." I bared my teeth in something too sharp to be a smile. "Watch how fast they mobilize."
“Lilian?” she asked, and I nodded. She sighed. The teacup shattered in her grip. Amber liquid dripped between her fingers like congealed blood. "This could start a war. Ugh. Why are so many troubles finding my academy this year? It doesn’t make sense statistically."
"Beats me,” I shrugged, “But better their war than ours." I watched a droplet hit the carpet, blooming dark. "Let the zealots and glory hounds bleed first. Then I’ll clean up what's left."
For a heartbeat, her scowl deepened. “You?” she asked, and I failed to understand what that expression meant. A moment later, her shoulders relaxed in that dangerous way panthers do before the kill. "Why later and not now? What will you be doing while I play herald to this circus?"
The words tasted like surrender. "Training."
Her snort fogged the air between us. "You? Training? I thought you'd mastered the art of nearly dying spectacularly a long time ago."
"Oh, come on, at least I beat my enemy," my thumb traced the scar across the elbow of my other hand, the one from Sir Likard. "I am going to the Shan Gui Highlands. Eastern Continent, Shenzora."
The temperature dropped ten degrees. Her pupils slithered into draconic verticals. "You're joking."
"When do I joke about level grinding?"
Silk whispered as she rose, the hem of her robe brushing my knees. "That's three weeks by airship through Leviathan Straits. The danger of that place aside, which is intense, the travel time is no joke. You'll miss the summer tournament if you’re too late. The inter-academy exchange. Your own godsdamned birthday—"
"Why do you have my birthday memorized? I’m touched." I stood slowly, meeting her glare. "Anyways, that’s why I am asking for the permit from you and not Katheran.”
“This is nepotism.”
“No, it’s not. I can just challenge the victor of the summer tournament to a duel,” I said, watching her stare at me blankly. “Come on, Amy. I need to be ready when the true danger of the Outer God Cult surfaces, and I need power for that. I can’t keep losing consciousness every other fight, I’ll end up dead."
Her claws found my collar, dragging me close enough to smell dragonfire on her breath. "You don’t always have to fight, you know that? You gave me all the necessary information, so why not leave this fight to me?"
"If not the Outer God Cult, then the Gods higher up. There’s no end to my fights, Amy," I said, watching her grip tighten, but I didn't flinch. "Permission, please. Otherwise, I’ll sneak out.”
The growl that left her throat vibrated in my molars. Then—
"Fine." She shoved me back, storm clouds gathering in her eyes. "But if you die in some backwater mountain pass, I might just resurrect you just to kill you again."
Resurrection wasn’t that easy, nor clean. The scroll hit my chest before I heard the drawer open. Heavy vellum crackled as I unfurled it—official leave papers already glowing with the Academy’s sigil.
My throat tightened. She'd had these ready for weeks. I looked up at her, “What?”
“I just had a guess you’d take a leave sooner or later,” she crossed her arms. “I don’t think you’d get to graduate like this, so I had some prepared. Now stay here, I’ll go cook.”
I smiled.
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The Veiled Man Note: Once again, let me know if you guys don’t like thirsty-type pictures in the middle of the chapter, I can move them to the end of chapters.
Comments
hawkshe .
I like the pic
The Hand Behind the Veil
🔥🔥🔥Thank you!
Detectivetrap23
Late to comment but I really liked this chapter. Amelia is a very fun character and I like the partnership building between her and iskandaar
The Hand Behind the Veil
Thank you for pointing out the issues, Musashi! I've just fixed all of them right now, save for the zealot one. As CK said, plus according to direct google search, [Zealot: a person who is fanatical and uncompromising in pursuit of their religious, political, or other ideals.] Once again, appreciate the detailed comment!
CkLance
In the 1st century A.D., a fanatical sect arose in Judaea to oppose the Roman domination of Palestine. Known as the Zealots, they fought their most famous battle at the great fortress of Masada, where 1,000 defenders took their own lives just as the Romans were about to storm the fort. Over the years, zealot came to mean anyone who is passionately devoted to a cause. The adjective zealous may describe someone who's merely dedicated and energetic ("a zealous investigator", "zealous about combating inflation", etc.). But zealot (like its synonym fanatic) and zealotry (like its synonym fanaticism) are used disapprovingly—even while Jews everywhere still honor the memory of those who died at Masada. --Merriam Webster There is nothing modern about 'zealot' and 'fanatic' Being interchangeable. That's been a thing for 1,900 years.
musashi
The repetitive imagery of the honey(cake) turning to ash is distracting when used the second time. It forces the reader to recall the first use, waste time considering the (lack of) meaning and then pick back up reading where they left off. It breaks the flow. In addition, it reads as if he's wasting part of the first cake since the first half-eaten pastry was set down and then later he picked up another cake. Next, the use of the word "zealots" when the better word "fanatics" could be used is confusing. Zeal is a good thing, fanaticism is not. You can talk to a zealot and change their mind. (Think of the Medjai and Ardeth Bay in The Mummy.) A fanatic has no need to talk because they already know everything. The reason the two words may seem interchangeable is because modern media and ideological usage both work to make them confused but it wasn't always this way. Next, in the assertive phase "No it's not" the qestion mark is weak. It may be too emphatic to use an exclamation but if you want a short phrase then so be it. Next, why is the word "Crazy" after the birthday sentence? No woman in any world would let that go with a silent glare especially if she were already upset. Nice ending! tftc
IdolTrust
Mid way doesn’t matter.
CkLance
Binged in 3 days 😂
The Hand Behind the Veil
😂 Congrats on catching up
CkLance
Amelia used Seduction. It's Super Effective!
