Listening to the demon retell his visions, sparing no detail, Solomon stayed quiet. Not once did he stop the demon to ask a question, or to get further explanation for anything.
This went on for hours, and Astaroth had his cupped refilled many times by Amon during that time. By some sort of spell, the tea was always kept at the right temperature, and never changed in taste.
Astaroth casually listened, only taking in the broad strokes of the demon's visions. It wouldn't matter if he listened fully, anyway.
If the theories they had on time were anything correct, what he heard now would already not come to pass. Him having any knowledge of what was to come, already erased that possibility from the timeline.
He quickly became lost in thought, ignoring his surroundings, and thinking about how to get away from here soon. His thoughts lingered on his final destination.
He wondered how the warriors of the village were doing. He assumed Chris and Kloud were as hard on them as always, and it brought a smile to his face.
He remembered when he first logged into the game, almost losing his life in the first hour. He thought back to his first lessons about magic with Aberon.
The gruesome repetition the man put him through. Aberon had constantly told him he had the potential to be a mage, but lacked that true natural talent.
Of course, the old man always said enough hard work could replace that talent, but the road would be arduous. Thinking back to those days, Astaroth felt a bit of nostalgia.
For a moment, his mental defences slipped, and he felt like he had been transported back to those days.
"Astaroth! Focus, you young air-head!"
Snapping out of his daze, Astaroth came back to attention. Only, the cloudy floor, and luxurious sofas were gone.
He was instead sitting on the cold hard stone of the cave under Aberon's abode. The old man was looking at him with a stern look.
"You need to focus if you want to wield magic. One instant of inattention, and you could hurt yourself, or someone else irreversibly!"
Astaroth frowned.
"Master Aberon? How did I get here?"
Looking around himself, Astaroth recognized every detail of the place. But his mind knew he wasn't supposed to be here at that moment.
"Did you hit your head, young man? You got here by walking as always. Now Focus on the spell. Before I send you back to Kloud to get some sense beaten into you."
"No. This isn't right. Master Aberon, I am not supposed to be here. I am miles away from here, stuck in a pocket space."
"What kind of disillusion are you living in, Young man? You walked here this morning, asking for more training on how to control your magic. You never left this village, let alone go miles away."
Astaroth rapidly understood what was happening.
"Really? An illusion? Is that the best you can do?"
Aberon stopped moving, his face stuck in a face of anger. But no words ever escaped his unmoving face.
Astaroth got up, as a cackle started resounding around him.
"I'm impressed you noticed so fast. Sadly, it won't change your situation. You are stuck here, and I will feast on your mana and soul until you wither away. Kakakaka!"
Astaroth snorted, which stopped the cackling being in his tracks.
"What makes you laugh, Elven boy? You think this is the time to be having fun?!"
"I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. You thinking I am stuck here is just too funny. Pfft! Ahahaha!"
The cave started shaking.
"Stop laughing! Don't you understand you will die here?!"
"Ahahaha. Oh, I'm sorry. Ahahaha. Poor sap. Do you think I will stay here? I want to ask you something."
"I won't tell you how to get out! I will let you despair until you fane and die!"
"Oh, poor you. That wasn't my question. Do you know what that is, on the pedestal?"
"Of course, I know what that is! It's some kind of… of... Magic device? It doesn't matter! You will die here!"
"You are almost correct. A point for the effort. This artifact holds enough energy to blast this village and the mountain it is inside off the face of the world. Now. What would happen if I broke it?"
"Then you would explode with it! Kakakaka!" I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Astaroth smirked again, before walking over to the artifact. He had seen the shield artifact often when he lived in the village, and as soon as he looked at it from closer, he could tell.
He could tell that this held so little mana, it would barely cause his hair to flutter. So he reared his arm back, clenching his fist.
"Stop! You will explode and die!"
"Eh. So what? Better to die like this than have you sap my life away, right?"
Finishing his phrase, Astaroth punched the artifact with all his might. The shield artifact, which should have been able to withstand a lot of damage, shattered like glass.
But nothing else happened. No explosion, no blinding white light.
Only the sound of the illusion around Astaroth breaking away. He had a harder time escaping the illusions conjured by Aberon.
He smirked one last time, before everything crumbled and he reopened his eyes on the sofa he was sitting on.
Across from him, the table where the teapot had been resting, now lay on its side, the teapot shattered on the ground. Kneeling on the ground in front of Solomon, whose face was a mask of rage, was a naked man, with feathered wings and a small crown atop his head.
In Amon's hand, a long scimitar was raised, ready to strike down.
"For the crime of attacking Sir Solomon's guest, I, Marquis Amon, sentence you to death."
As the scimitar sliced down, a blue wavy sword came out of nowhere, blocking the blow, and keeping the demon alive.
"Please, Marquis Amon. No need to sully your blade on such a farce of a spell."
Turning his head, locking his red eyes on Astaroth, who was wielding the sword, Amon was almost in shock. Astaroth had readied his mind for the eye contact this time, so he was unaffected by the gaze.
The tension was palpable in the air, but laughter broke it in a mere instant.
"Boahahaha! You broke out of an illusion conjured by a Duke of Hell. Quite impressive, Elven boy! Boahahaha!"
"Come again?"
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