Overpowered Wizard B3 Ch90: The Road to Carrowmore

“Husband, can I have a moment of your time?” asked a voice near his ear, one of cool shadows, beautiful tragedies, and horrifying corruption.

His ring finger pulsed with a darkened weight he hadn’t felt in a while, proving this was indeed Luciana Shadowfell Darkrun speaking to him.

And nobody in the caravan had yet picked up on the presence of the evil goddess, nor the man dressed as a white and blue ninja with nine fox tails.

Eventually, someone was bound to notice his audacious approach. So, he nodded quickly for Luciana to hurry.

“First, I must apologize for not being fully present during your time of great tragedy. I drank from its dark waters and feasted upon your deep pain, but I haven’t done my duty as a wife as I should’ve. There is no excuse for that. But all I can say is … I’ve taken on a great burden to ease some pressures for you. Though I cannot say what it is right now or it’ll draw the wrong attention.”

Surprisingly, Zarian felt something close to anger rouse from within him.

He wanted to point out Luciana’s hypocrisy for demanding things as his wife and failing to uphold her end. But he was more curious about the pressure she was easing, so he put his anger aside for now.

What could she be doing in the background that would have her act in secret?

The caravan kept marching, rolling, jostling, with random members from different worlds jockeying for a higher social position among themselves. Dark blocky clouds covered the skies above. The air thinned with lack of oxygen and aura.

Rising bridges took them upward, and in every direction, snow-laden ramparts and castle walls dotted the foothills and foot mountains of Cold Booth.

Out of direct view, crawling and hoofing amid the recesses, crags, and stone whorls of the castle-bent landscape, monsters above Level 100 prowled about, some spying upon the newcomers while looking for easy pickings to feast on.

Keeping track of everything with aura, Zarian nodded for Luciana to continue.

“I won’t take up much of your time while at the tournament unless you seek an audience with me, husband, but I must ask that you let me represent your empire and alignment. I will still be of the traditional evil alignment.

“But as you are well aware of, I can bend the rules as an Ultra Goddess and as your wife. And I’m doing so because the ones being sent as representatives of Ride-or-Die are not up to the task. With your permission, I can uphold the role and speak in favor of you and what you’ve built.”

Zarian thought about it.

Para also thought about it with him.

Meanwhile, someone in the caravan was twitching about and sweeping their senses in his direction. They were going to notice the fox man soon.

“If you don’t screw over my empire and alignment, then you have my blessing to be one of my main representatives,” Zarian said, his words having weight while disrupting his wondrous, eldritch, and array-clad concealment.

Seeming to take his words as gospel, Luciana went away like thin wisps of smoke caught by tundra winds, gone before anyone noticed her godly presence.

Her vanishing gave Zarian post-decision regret for a moment. Then he was thrust into the world of meeting new people and figuring out how much of himself he had to hold back.

“WHAT THE HIDDEN HELL ARE YOU, FOX DEVIL?!” screeched a tall, willowy man with the features of a cat and a bat.

He had fuzzy gray fur and whiskers covering his face, large veiny ears turning like radar-dishes, and large membranous wings spanning out and flapping from behind him. Clutched between his long fingers, thick weavings of fog and fangs tumbled about as some sort of skill he was charging up.

“Ready to engage and destroy the threat!” droned a large, clunky, man-shaped construct of a person with skin that shone like polished chrome while adorned with gears, pipes blowing steam, and divots filled with crystal power sources.

When the construct-man faced around, his lower body kept moving forward with a heavy, snow-crunching tread while his upper body turned fully at the waist to face Zarian. Arms raised akimbo, the construct man revealed compartments in his tubular limbs that were filled with steam-powered weaponry – magic pistols, magic cannons, and even a magic gatling gun.

“Is this the first test of the tournament?! If so, it is I who will surpass the rest of you and prove the worth of my rise to Good God Purgehunt!” roared a rowdy fellow with a thunderous voice.

One of the more humanoid creatures was squat and extremely broad, coming up to only five feet in height while three times wider in dimensions than Zarian and many times heavier. Crackling dark blue lightning coursed in rivulets around the dwarven man’s body and the smell of flash-fried ozone with the scent of freshly forged steel permeated the surrounding air.

Then there were the others, turning about, clamoring, cawing, raising their hackles, hissing, making a show of their magic, and pressing upon Zarian and the others with their sensory abilities that they’d brought with them from the many worlds across the Lesser Realms.

One circled embers and ash around them like a twister, making the cold air hiss and warp. Another wielded what looked like a paint-brush that made reality blend and mix with every stroke, threatening to turn their foes into smudge. Another reminded Zarian of Dying Dream Duty Dorian and the Somnolite people, but with a more nightmare-focused bent while humming with a magnetic charge.

What an interesting collection of foreigners, Para shared via their mind. I wonder what they all taste like.

Zarian found it more interesting that he and Para were so at home in Corma they could call other weirdos foreigners at this point. On the outside, he addressed the caravan after holding them in suspense long enough for them to quiet down.

“My name is Isaiah Skybreaker, and I’m here to make myself stronger and greater. If you wish to fight now, I’m all for it. I can use a light warm up before the tournament begins.”

There was a twitch in reality. The shadow of falsehood rose and fell across Zarian, but it was something that was special to him. He could sense his own weakness, even if only a little, as if he was under a soft debuff for not representing his bloodline.

That was fine.

If he wanted to stand beyond his heritage, then he had to face the consequences of that.

Weakness can be a source of power, Para philosophized via mind. Enough power can overcome any weakness.

Enlightened, Zarian expected someone to throw a punch or try to riddle his guts with holes so he could show his stuff. The tension only rose higher after his bold statement, and he could already see some of them were twitchy with all the potential rivals and random means of enacting violence on each other.

Then the stormy and steely dwarf guy roared with thunderous laughter, breaking the tension and settling down the potential for a fight outside of the tournament.

“Ba ha ha ha ha! Now that’s the spirit! Evil! Good! We may not be of the same alignment, but I will surely respect one who prays to be STRONG and stands BOLD!” The stormy and steely dwarf kept laughing thunderously.

“You can fall in with us, little fox, but don’t you think I’m not keeping an ear out for you, you hear?” snarled the man with the features of a cat and a bat, putting away his magic of fogs and fangs.

His dark beady eyes narrowed in Zarian’s direction, only to meet an impassive blue fox mask and white eyes that gave nothing away. Even the motions of Para’s nine spirit tails were calm and unbothered, which left the catty bat-man huffing before turning away.

Just like that, Zarian joined their caravan as the latest stranger. He wasn’t the first to show up out of the blue and he wasn’t the last.

The impromptu caravan of oddities found others who were tournament contestants, some appearing by themselves, others appearing in homogenous groups who had almost a hundred in their numbers. Zarian took mental notes of them without using his devourer trait, only his immediate senses and his aura.

Even then, he used his aura in a limited manner, because there were wide ranges of overlapping auras meeting each other, and based on currents, reach, and movements, he wasn’t the only one who could touch others from a distance.

He also felt blatant uses of identifying traits, all of which he blocked with his aura and his Eldritch Existence. A few random brawls broke out, especially over the identifying rudeness, but none of the aggression was too overt.

Still, Zarian got to see an entire foothill disappear under a swarm of glowing lights with buzzing wings, sending the monsters in the immediate area scurrying away for cover.

Zarian didn’t blame the monsters for running.

All of these beings.

All of these adventurers from far-off worlds and who had some semblance of being human or none at all.

Were Master Rankers.

It was one thing to be in the Level 100s. It was another thing to be Master Rankers. And Zarian was surrounded by people who the Star System deemed worthy to rank among the masters.

That sort of concentration of power poured into one place was mind-boggling. For a long while, the only real Master Rankers were Zarian, his friends, the elves, and Ruvaria. In fact, Ruvaria exemplified being the best Master Ranker of the Lesser Worlds, at least in Zarian’s opinion.

Now they were just all over the place, as if it was normal.

“You’ve never been around so many like this, huh, Isaiah Skybreaker?” asked the stormy and steely dwarf, whose steps boomed like mini thunderclaps while taking up Zarian’s side.

“How can you tell?” Zarian asked.

“I’ve noticed how you turn ever so slightly to track everyone. And I got a good sense for those who are truly ready to strike at a moment’s notice, like a real warrior! Not like those weak and frail magicians and hocus pocus types with their noses stuck in dusty pages.” Again, the stormy and steely dwarf laughed thunderously.

“Some wizards aren’t that weak and frail,” Zarian commented lightly. “But, you are right, I haven’t seen this many Master Rankers before. I’m not sure how you all got here.”

He did know, but he figured playing dumb worked best, and his free evil +11 wasn’t likely to be wrong. The stormy and steely dwarf took the bait like it was steak and he was a red-blooded carnivore.

“Ba ha ha ha! I see! So you’re a native to this world, Isaiah Skybreaker. Well, let me give proper introductions, for you must take this opportunity to know the one who will win the tournament and bring glory back to my world before I finally ascend. I am Valin Storm-Skull, son of Vules Storm-Forge and Vala Steel-Skull, a family of proud weapon smiths, one and all!”

Valin flicked his wrist and summoned into his hand a big two-handed maul that was nearly taller than the dwarf. Zarian felt the weight and magic of the epic item and the promise of pain it would bring to its enemies.

The dwarf had an electric glint in his eyes, as if thinking of past victims while also imagining the future victims in the tournament to come.

“We’ve long heard of the infamous tournament from the World of Castles and Caverns, so when I proved my worth to my world leader, he promoted me before the Star System and granted me access to the Lesser World Beam Transmission,” Valin explained. “Ah! Look there! You can see one for yourself.”

Valin pointed a thick finger to the side, and Zarian’s gaze followed with a slight turn of his cloaked and masked head.

Intersecting fields of aura moved in the same direction as others watched a tube of diamond light shoot through the dark clouds above and land on top of a weathered and snow-covered tower a few hundred feet away.

The beam transmission broke like crystalline glass, and what remained were four men adorned in futuristic magic armor. They were equipped with rifles, grenades, and energy swords that reminded Zarian of something similar to Halo or Hell Divers or whatever.

The magic drop troopers aimed their weapons down at the growing caravan of oddities, who turned to look at them, all of their masterful magic charging up in turn, ready to fly and destroy.

Zarian cut through the bullshit for them. “We’re all heading to the tournament. Want to join us?”

“Yeah, that’s what we signed up for,” said one of the magic drop troopers with a bit of static coming through a voice modulator. “None of you eat people, do you?”

“And if we do?” asked a vaguely humanoid creature that was half-gnarled tree, half-writhing tendrils, and half viscous fluid that was like sap and oil running between the gaps in its bark.

Zarian couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, but it was certainly one of the more odd races that had shown up yet.

The magic drop trooper and his comrades tensed slightly.

Zarian sighed. “You can join me and my chatty dwarf friend here.”

“DWARF! I’m no dwarf, just like how you’re no snake! I’m a proud dvergr! And don’t you mistake it!” Valin roared, his voice resounding far, echoing among the foothills, foot mountains, and random stone walls.

“Yes, well, we aren’t planning to eat people right now, are we?” Zarian asked, mindful of his words, because Para might want to nibble on some people sooner or later.

“Well, no, but I’m serious. I’m not a dwarf. I’m a dvergr, dvergr. The ‘d’ is silent,” Valin explained vehemently.

The drop troopers talked among themselves quickly before their leader confirmed their decision. “We can work with that.”

Thus, Zarian had the not-dwarf and the drop troopers walking alongside him at the end of their caravan.

More tournament contestants appeared, some from further out, others damn near on top of the procession of eager foreigners. More and more beams of diamond-light poured down from the dark skies and shattered on impact to release their passengers from far away worlds.

Incredible. There’s no end to them. All of these Master Rankers. Will we really get to fight them all? Will I get to consume some of them and taste their power, their origins, their trials and tribulations? Will their progression come to an end inside of me? Para wondered.

Maybe, maybe not, but the more Zarian saw, the more his heart pounded with thrill and anticipation.

Though, he had to remind himself there were more than just Master Rankers he and Para would contend with at the tournament. The other contestants might not know it, but this sort of event was bigger than any of them except for Zarian himself.

After rounding a bend and picking up hundreds more, their procession flowed between the walls of a perfectly made valley with cuts along the sides. There, their caravan joined other caravans of tournament contestants coming from different directions, all filled with eager Master Rankers from different worlds who just landed recently.

Zarian found himself surrounded, almost packed in, with so much aura and power and abilities passively flexing around him, that he had to focus on the wide open and cavernous doorway growing closer or he might get too rowdy and start throwing punches and slinging spells.

Thankfully, he had Para to watch his back, and he had his spiders, who remained concealed in the shadows of the unaware. That way, he could properly behold the experience of entering the infamous evil city nation of Carrowmore after hearing about it for years.