Chapter 513 Delightful Misfortune
Kieran had been intrigued by the Sacred Inheritor's claim, but when he learned the truth of what she meant… he felt indignation rise in large clumps. Bitter vitriol rose to the tip of his tongue, and hatred festered like a rotting wound, destroying part of his impression of her.
During her respite, the Sacred Inheritor had ventured deeper into the idyllic land while following the creatures that kept her company. She had happened upon fruits she had yet to consume — fruits akin to berries with an astringent taste.
At least the acetic taste she described quenched some of his repulsion. However, Kieran was still embittered by the entire situation.
'Oh sure, she gets some sour fruit to eat. But I must endure having my soul and body burned and forged by a deluge of resentments. We are not the same…'
Kieran released his exasperation through a deep sigh before turning to the current conversation.
"…So, what were you saying about these bitter fruits?"
The Sacred Inheritor scoffed as if accosted by Kieran's words, then began her typical rant.
"What a disgusting oversimplification of their rancid taste. Bitter doesn't even begin to describe how unpleasant those alluring fruits are. Nothing but a beautiful lie, I tell you."
Kieran clutched his face in defeat. The entire situation was draining him more than any foe he had faced in combat thus far. Was this the effect of stress?
"Lady… come on. It can't be that bad."
"You haven't the slightest! It's not a taste that simply affects the tongue, it seeps deeper and alters the mind."
Seeps deeper and alters the mind…
Kieran mulled over that phrase briefly, wondering why it sounded so familiar. If he took a step back and compared her description of the fruits to his own experiences inside the Trial, he would notice a likeness was buried within.
The delivery systems were remarkably different, but the basis was essentially identical.
Then… Kieran grew frustrated again.
'Oh, come on! This is just adding insult to injury.'
Kieran looked aggrieved as he groaned miserably.
If his understanding of the situation was correct, he had stumbled upon a prevalent truth among the Inheritors. Every Inheritor was to stumble upon a catalyst that would spur their Advancing, and each stimulus perpetrated the same outcome with different means.
In Kieran's case, he had to endure the resentments within a deluge of infernal blood. It bore into his body like a sinister drill and wrought excruciating damage that, in turn, refined him from within to without.
Those fruits did the same thing to the Sacred Inheritor, but the intensity was nothing more than a mild discomfort compared to what he faced.
'That must be why her character is so atrocious! I get it. Suffering builds character. She lacks suffering, which is why she lacks character.'
Kieran nodded, trying his best to agree with his peculiar logic, but he was left grimacing.
'No… I somehow don't like that explanation. It makes me feel like a freak.'
After some more silence, Kieran cleared his throat and spoke pointedly.
"Why don't you consume every last fruit you can find. You'll need them all, considering your insufferable lack of training."
The Sacred Inheritor harrumphed, intending to return a witty reply, but a violent hacking erupted on the other side of the connection. It was then followed by a raspy wheezing.
The more Kieran experienced the Sacred Inheritor's misery, the deeper the grin on his face became.
'Yes… suffer with me. It becomes more bearable if we all suffer as one.'
Kieran had never felt such schadenfreude before but welcomed the deranged sentiment. If the saying: "misery loves company" needed an incarnate or avatar to represent its meaning… that was Kieran.
Through a ragged breath, the Sacred Inheritor began to speak.
"It burns. The burning is so odd. It's like I'm pouring fine liquor directly into my brain. Wait… hm, this feels pretty… pretty good now that I think about it."
The Sacred Inheritor's tone experienced a prominent change as she spoke, going from crisp to slightly slurred as if having succumbed to a drunken state. It tracked, considering berries were usually the foundation of some alcoholic beverages.
The feeling intoxicated her, but it also invigorated her.
Somehow, Kieran could feel that through his link. He could vaguely feel her emotions and be influenced by them like he lived vicariously through them. Her soul connectivity had begun to thrive.
Her mind was undoubtedly being strengthened, refined, and expanded by those berries — like a firm bridge being built to connect distant points.
However, though her mind was being strengthened, the rate at which it occurred was extremely slow. Similar to how the Flame slowly condemned Kieran's Realm with fastidious intent.
'I wonder, does she have to resist something similar to the Flame? Probably not.'
Kieran held the lion's share of the Oath's Significance, and with that lion's share came the privilege and burden of being the Anchor. The Anchor was the bulwark against the Flame's riveting display of intoxicating power. It protected the Spirit, which was admittedly more critical than the Mind or Body… or perhaps the cumulative value of both.
Kieran placed his focus elsewhere as the Sacred Inheritor drowned in that intoxicating sensation.
The Anchor wouldn't release his Blood Rune, but what if he borrowed a few principles from the piecemeal Mystic Gate he created. It had also been a while since he spent time reconstructing and reinforcing the construct.
It was more robust than anything he had created thus far, successfully combating the Flame.
But, like always, the moment he thought about furthering his understanding of mysticism by manipulating mystic essence, the Flame coalesced from the Condemnation.
"What are you thinking about my child? I can feel your intent. You want to touch that wicked theurgy again, don't you? But that will make me mad. Why would you incite Ruin?"
Kieran followed the Flame's drifting movements with his eyes and blinking unhurriedly.
"Why are you approaching me with empty threats? Also, didn't we have this talk already? Are you… as forgetful as I am? Shame, I expected more from the Great Flame of Ruin."
"Flame of Ruin?"
The Flame buzzed in excitement, its sinister delight flickering like a fire graced by subtle winds.
"I like that. Flame of Ruin — you are a genius, my child. But wait… why would you call me that? I am not Ruin; I can only bring it."
Kieran furrowed his brows and analyzed the Flame's dubious expression. It seemed genuine enough, but how genuine could an inherently disingenuous entity be?
"I haven't forgotten all of your stories. They're there."
Kieran pointed at the orbs of varying brilliance, brightness, and depth floating within his Realm of Self. Those were his memories, experiences, and everything else that accumulated to become his unique impression of himself.
He continued.
"It's not very nice to try and openly deceive a child. How will I ever trust you in the future, Flame? I am saddened. You have broken my heart… like the Gods have broken you."
Enraged, the Flame grew into a billowing inferno.
"I do not wish to break you! You are my best bet at realizing my long-standing dream. What on you is broken? I shall repair it this instant."
Kieran tested the waters with a simple request — he pointed at his wounded throat.
The Flame's enthusiasm vanished instantly.
"You are an Unspoken. I can not betray the meaning of that. You were destined never to utter a word."
"Then… there's isn't much you can do for me now."
Kieran shrugged, closed his eyes, and slit his palms inside the Realm of Self.
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