The Barbarian Awakening - Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Echoes of a Demon of Legends Isolde crouched behind the jagged outcropping of rock, the acrid scent of corrupted magic burning h

Chapter 25: Echoes of a Demon of Legends

Isolde crouched behind the jagged outcropping of rock, the acrid scent of corrupted magic burning her nostrils. 

“Oh no…”

The sight before her was harrowing. The old quarry stretched below them, its stone walls reflecting eerie violet light from the ritual circle carved into the earth. Three children huddled together within a secondary circle, their small bodies trembling as they clung to one another.

But it was Ragna who commanded Isolde's attention. The barbarian woman lay sprawled in the center of the primary circle, crimson hair fanned out around her head like spilled blood. Magical bindings of sickly green energy coiled around her limbs and torso, pulsing in rhythm with the larger spell.

This mage had defeated Ragna. He wasn't to be taken lightly.

"We're too late," Isolde whispered, a chill spreading through her chest. "He's already begun."

The mage stood with his back to them, arms raised toward the waxing moon. His black robes rippled in an unnatural wind that seemed to touch nothing else. Power radiated from him in oppressive waves that made Isolde's skin crawl. She wasn't an [Earth Mage], but she'd seen a lot of students use it. That wasn't normal.

It was unmistakably corrupted geomancy.

"Fifth Ascension," Thorvyn murmured, his special eyes assessing the situation. "But stronger than Alister, I think. Maybe Level 65."

Beside her, Thorvyn's tone was calm but she didn't let that distract her from how his breathing changed. A low growl built in his throat, primal and dangerous. Was it seeing Ragna on the floor, or those children? Something snapped him. 

Before she could react, he was halfway to standing, axe in hand.

 "W-wait! We have to plan this properly!” Isolde grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging into the hardened muscle. "Otherwise, you'll get her killed."

"Princess. We can't waste time, he's going to sacrifice her!" Thorvyn's eyes had taken on an unnatural sheen, reptilian and cold.

"I won't let that happen! If you just rush in now, you'll get captured too. We have to wait a little bit more! Listen to me, please. Look at the pattern," Isolde insisted, pulling him back down. "This isn't just a sacrifice. See how the energy flows into the ground? He's channeling, not just killing. Rush in blindly and we lose everything."

Thorvyn hesitated, his gaze darting between her and Ragna's prone form. "Explain. Quickly."

Isolde traced the pattern of the ritual circle in the air, her finger leaving a faint blue glow. "This is a perversion of ancient royal geomancy in our family. It's a spell pattern designed to revitalize land. I've only seen these patterns in restricted texts. They're crude imitations of the original magic that changed Thalassaria." Isolde continued urgently. "A crude copy of a spell used by the Heavenly Demon himself."

"The Heavenly Demon?" Thorvyn's eyes widened slightly. Did even the Volcanic Barbarians know of that man? "The Divine Cult's founder?”

She nodded, surprised at his recognition. “The legend, the very same. Three centuries ago, when what is now Thalassaria was a barren desert, he performed rituals that transformed the land. Our royal geomancy descends from his teachings, though much has been lost to time." She pointed to specific marks in the circle below. "But that had required the caster's life force, which the Heavenly Demon had tons of, not the victims. This is different. These symbols are twisted, parasitic. They don't create… they drain and corrupt."

The mage below began to chant, his voice carrying unnaturally through the quarry. With each syllable, the ground beneath Ragna pulsed with sickly light.

"That's all very fascinating," Thorvyn growled, "but in case you hadn't noticed, Ragna is right there, and I'd rather not let her die while we discuss magical history. Let's move to the important part?”

The mage raised a ceremonial dagger, its blade gleaming in the moonlight.

"How do we stop it?" Thorvyn demanded.

Guilt surged through Isolde, another person suffering because of her kingdom's troubles. "Once again, I'm sorry for pulling you into this," she said, meeting his gaze. 

“A queen shouldn't apologise so much, Isolde. I didn't rush in because I don't understand magic and rather trust your judgement instead. Continue.”

A flutter passed through her stomach but she quickly brushed it off. This wasn't the time. She pointed at the ritual. "Alright, so the circle has three anchor points," she said, pointing to glowing stones placed at equidistant points around the perimeter. "We must disrupt those, and the energy will destabilize. It's good that we waited for a bit, otherwise we'd have been captured by those bindings too, and also the anchor points were protected by additional magic until now. This is the perfect timing. Let's move."

"Yes," Thorvyn agreed, hefting his crystallized axe. "I'll take the mage head-on. Borric, you and the princess break the formation and get the children and Ragna out."

Isolde caught his arm again. "U-uh? We should all fight the mage first! Thorvyn, he's Fifth Ascension. Even with your strength–”

"This time, I wasn't asking permission, Princess." His voice carried an edge she hadn't heard before. Not anger, but absolute resolve.

Something in his eyes made her breath catch. For a heartbeat, she forgot he was a barbarian from a distant island. In that moment, she saw a Honourable Knight standing between innocents and darkness.

"Very well," she conceded. "But please be careful. If I'm reading the ritual correctly, he'll still try to absorb your strength if you give him the opening."

“Absorbing other people's powers, huh?” Thorvyn's mouth curved into a grim smile. "Let him try."

Then they moved as one, breaking from cover. The battle began.

Isolde's hands traced complex patterns in the air, blue light trailing from her fingertips as she summoned her mirror magic. Thorvyn charged directly toward the center of the quarry, his axe gleaming in the moonlight. Borric circled toward the children, dagger at the ready.

Thorvyn didn't shout but the mage still spun at their approach, his hood falling back to reveal a gaunt face with eyes like empty pits. "More interlopers!" he snarled, recognition flashing across his features as he spotted Isolde. "Oh, no. Is that the dear Princess Isolde herself? What a delightful addition to my work."

He gestured sharply, and the ground erupted. Skeletal hands burst from the earth, clutching at their ankles. 

Thorvyn smashed through them without breaking stride, bone fragments scattering in his wake. “Your opponent is me, Mage.”

Isolde was worried. Would Thorvyn be fine? He did win against Alister, but that man was a Knight. It was understandable how a barbarian could overpower him in strength. But this… this was a mage. Not just proficient in Earth Magic, but more importantly, Necromancy.

"Princess!" Borric shouted, pointing to the nearest anchor stone.

She nodded, pivoting toward it while summoning a shield of mirrored energy around herself. The shield caught a blast of necrotic energy from the mage, reflecting it back toward him. He dodged, but the redirected spell struck one of his skeletal minions, reducing it to dust.

"Ho, an Academy Trained mage is quite skilled. Your brother sends his regards, Princess," the mage called, his voice carrying a theatrical lilt. "Though I doubt he expected you to be quite so... inconvenient."

Thorvyn had almost reached the circle's edge when the mage slammed his staff into the ground. A shockwave rippled outward, knocking him back.

"Thorvyn!" Isolde cried, but he was already rolling to his feet.

"Stop looking at me, focus on your part!" he shouted back.

The mage raised his hands, dark energy coalescing between his palms. "This day is most interesting. A barbarian defending a princess. How quaint. Has she told you what becomes of her toys when she's finished with them?"

What the hell is he talking about?! Isolde felt insulted as she reached the first anchor stone, placing her palm against its cold surface. The magic within it recoiled from her touch, somehow recognizing blood of the royal line. She closed her eyes, drawing on her training from Waybound. 

Instead of attacking the stone directly, she called upon her mirror magic to reflect its own energy back into itself.

The stone cracked, then shattered. One-third of the ritual circle dimmed.

"No!" The mage howled in surprise, his concentration broken. After a grunt, he gestured wildly, and the ground beneath Ragna began to glow brighter. "You're too late, Princess. The sacrifice has begun!"

Isolde felt rather than saw Thorvyn's rage explode. The air around him crackled with elemental energy as he activated a skill she didn't recognize. Lightning and wind swirled around his form as he charged forward again, this time breaking through the mage's barrier with pure force.

"You stupid barbarian!" the mage spat, summoning a wall of bones between them. "Do you have any idea what forces you're interfering with?"

Thorvyn's axe came down with thunderous impact, shattering the bone wall. "I don't care," he growled, advancing relentlessly. "Let. Her. Go!”

She couldn’t look away from that fight. Back in Waybound, combative spellcasting was taught as a precise science – geometric formations, carefully measured mana expenditure, and defensive counter-matrices. They spent years learning to minimize movement, to craft the perfect stance.

Yet Thorvyn fought like a storm. All barely contained chaos and raw instinct. He didn't cast magic so much as embody it. Where a Waybound graduate would have established a protective ward before engaging, he simply charged through the necromancer's death miasma, elemental energy crackling around him like a second skin. 

It wasn't recklessness, she realized in shock. It was a fundamentally different relationship with magical energy. 

Strange, how effective it was. How... pure.

Isolde shook off the daze and raced toward the second anchor stone, weaving between animated corpses that clawed at her robes. She cast Mirror Image, creating three illusory copies of herself that scattered in different directions, confusing her attackers.

Borric had reached the children, his merchant's precision evident as he carefully cut through the magical bindings with a dagger coated in some substance from his pack. His face was set with determination that belied his past as a simple trader.

"Princess," he called, "these bindings are drawing life force! We need to hurry!"

Isolde redoubled her efforts, reaching the second anchor stone. This one resisted her more strongly, pulsing with malevolent energy that burned her palm. She gritted her teeth, pushing through the pain.

It hurt, but she could break it. She'd been taught skills for situations exactly like this one.

"Reflect," she commanded, calling on her class skill. The stone's surface rippled like disturbed water, then began to turn inward on itself. With a sound like breaking glass, it imploded, taking another third of the ritual's power with it.

The mage screamed in rage, abandoning his duel with Thorvyn to turn toward her. "You meddling bitch!" He thrust his hands forward, and a torrent of necrotic energy streamed toward her.

Isolde barely had time to raise her mirror shield. The impact drove her to her knees, the shield cracking under the assault. She poured more mana into it, reinforcing the failing barrier.

"Your brother was right about one thing," the mage taunted, increasing the pressure. "You always were too clever for your own good."

Through the distortion of her shield, Isolde saw Thorvyn signal to Borric, who nodded and began moving the children toward the quarry's edge. Thorvyn then charged the mage from behind, forcing him to break off his attack against her.

"Go!" Thorvyn shouted to her. "Get the last anchor! I'll handle him!"

The mage whirled, staff sweeping in a wide arc that Thorvyn barely dodged. "Handle me? You ignorant savage. I've spent decades mastering arts your primitive mind couldn't begin to comprehend!"

"Clearly not if you talk this much. Shut that mouth," Thorvyn replied with a grin, swinging his axe in a devastating arc. "Die."

Isolde scrambled toward the final anchor stone, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The corruption in the air was thickening, making each breath a struggle. 

At the center of the circle, Ragna had begun to convulse, the magical bindings tightening visibly.

The final stone stood on a raised platform, surrounded by a ring of animated corpses. Isolde steeled herself, drawing on reserves of mana she rarely tapped. Her hands traced intricate patterns as she summoned her most powerful mirror skill.

"[Crown of Echoes]," she whispered.

The air around her shimmered as multiple mirror-images formed—not mere illusions this time, but semi-corporeal duplicates, each capable of channeling a different spell. 

They moved in perfect synchronization, surrounding the undead guardians.

One duplicate absorbed the moonlight and cast a beam of pure light that reduced a skeleton to ash. Another reflected the energy discharge from a guardian back upon itself. A third created a pathway through the defenses, allowing Isolde to dash forward.

She reached the stone, pressing both palms against its cold surface. This one fought her viciously, sending pulses of pain up her arms. Blood trickled from her nose as she strained against it.

"I am Isolde Thalasson," she gritted out, declaring herself to any Nature Spirit that might be channeling the spell. “Daughter of Asharion, descendant of the founding line. This land is mine to protect, not yours to corrupt!"

The stone resisted for one more moment, then cracked down the center. The entire ritual circle went dark, the magical bindings around Ragna dissolving into wisps of green smoke.

The mage howled in fury, turning his attention from Thorvyn to Isolde. "You've ruined everything!" he screeched. "Years of preparation, destroyed by a girl playing at queenship!"

He raised his staff high, dark energy coalescing around it. Isolde braced herself for an attack she knew she couldn't fully deflect in her weakened state.

It never came. Thorvyn appeared between them, his axe a blur as it intercepted the mage's staff. The crystallized handle shattered on impact, but not before knocking the staff aside, disrupting the spell.

"Princess." Thorvyn calmly called over his shoulder. "Get Ragna and the children out."

"What about you?" she shouted back.

"I'll be right behind you." He turned back to the mage and pressed his attack, forcing the mage to retreat step by step.

Isolde hesitated only a moment before racing toward Ragna's prone form. The barbarian woman was breathing but unconscious, angry red marks where the magical bindings had burned into her skin.

"Borric!" Isolde called. "Help me with her!"

Together they lifted Ragna, carrying her toward where the children huddled. Isolde cast one last glance over her shoulder. What she saw made her stumble in shock.

Thorvyn was surrounded by animated corpses and skeleton monsters, but he wasn't fighting them conventionally. As she watched, he killed a skeleton monster, and a moment later, his body changed. It was grotesque. Long, white spikes began to extend from his knuckles, elbows, and shoulders protruding through his skin like weapons. With horrified fascination, Isolde realized they were extensions of his own bones. His own skeleton moved to his will.

Since when did he have this kind of power?

He moved with inhuman grace, the bone blades slicing through undead flesh as if it were parchment. She'd seen many combat styles at Waybound, but nothing like this living weaponry that seemed to transform his very body into an arsenal.

She nearly gasped aloud. This wasn't any school of magic that she recognized. It wasn’t necromancy, nor was it transmutation. It wasn’t even blood magic. His body wasn't merely channeling that power; it was adapting, evolving in response to an external stimulus. The phenomenon defied conventional magical taxonomy.

"What in the world...?" she whispered.

"Princess, we need to move!" Borric urged, supporting Ragna's weight.

They had almost reached the edge of the quarry when the mage let out a blood-curdling scream. Isolde turned to see him cornered against the quarry wall, Thorvyn advancing relentlessly.

“What did you say earlier about savages and comprehension?” he asked. 

"You think you've won?" the mage cried, blood trickling from multiple wounds. "My master foresaw this possibility. There is always... another way."

Before anyone could react, he plunged a ritual dagger into his own chest. But instead of collapsing, his body began to contort unnaturally. The dagger glowed with sickly light, and energy poured from his wound into the ground beneath him.

Thorvyn tried to stop it immediately, but a ripple of energy sent him tumbling backward.

"Oh no," Isolde’s forehead went cold, recognizing the pattern forming. "He's using himself as a conduit!"

The earth began to crack, sickly green light bleeding through fissures that spread like spider webs across the quarry floor. The mage's body twisted further, bones snapping audibly as something else took control.

"Thorvyn, run!" Isolde screamed.

But Thorvyn approached him through the storm, bone blades extended, placing himself between the transforming mage and the rest of them.

The air suddenly grew heavy, charged with something ancient and malevolent. Isolde's skin prickled with recognition of power far beyond her understanding.

A red flash split the darkness, so bright it left afterimages on Isolde's vision. 

It wasn't from the mage.

Nor was it from Thorvyn.

When she could see again, a figure stood before the transforming mage. Tall and robed in black and red, with one hand extended casually toward the mage's throat.

The newcomer made a simple cutting motion with his other hand, as if severing an invisible thread. Instantly, the sickly light dimmed, the earth-cracks sealed, and the mage collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

A strange person had saved them from a disaster that even Level 100 warriors would run from. In her three years at Waybound, she’d witnessed demonstrations by Archmages of the Seventh Ascension. She’d seen spells that could reshape landscapes, summon storms, even briefly bend time. The academy prided itself on hosting the continent's most formidable magical practitioners.

Yet she’d never felt power like this.

Relief lasted only a heartbeat before the robed figure turned, revealing eyes that blazed red with ancient hunger. 

Power radiated from him in suffocating waves, making Isolde's knees buckle. This was no ally. This was something far more dangerous than the mage had ever been.

The masked figure's gaze swept over them, and it lingered on Isolde a bit too long with terrible recognition. One of his eyes glinted what might have been amusement.

Thorvyn moved with startling speed, fast to position himself protectively in front of Isolde, his face contorted with alarm she'd never seen there before. Even his bone weapons seemed to retract slightly, as if recognizing a predator too powerful to challenge.

"Stay behind me," he whispered, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. "Don't try anything stupid."

The red-eyed stranger tilted his head, studying Thorvyn with something like curiosity. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of mountains.

"What a fateful day this is," he said, his tone casual yet somehow filling the entire quarry. "A Valtherian barbarian protecting a Thalasson princess."

He took a single step forward, and the very air seemed to ripple around him.

"I wonder," he continued, red eyes gleaming with terrible amusement, "if either of you has any idea what forces you're playing with."

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The Veiled Man Note: I wanted there to be only one Isolde POV Chapter, it turned into two. Hopefully you guys didn’t find it boring!