Sona hid her surprise by adjusting her glasses when she noticed the change in Castor's smile. Indifference and detachment gave way to curiosity and, as it seemed to her, anticipation. It was as if the guy was expecting something that had improved his mood. And, to be honest, Sitri had only ever seen Brinel in this state when she caught him reading a history book. The same smile never left his face, although it was sometimes replaced by... disappointment?
"You don't even have any guesses?" The girl looked into his dark glasses, through which she couldn't see his eyes. Perhaps his words about light sensitivity were just a way to hide his eyes from those around him so they couldn't read them.
"I've considered many possible scenarios, but there's still not enough information to draw any concrete conclusions.
His calm voice didn't change, nor did his smile, but the demon caught a hint of... interest. Her intuition told her that she had asked the right question, earning her more respect in the mind of this strange guy. Strange in every sense of the word. He even felt strangely magical! Standing next to him, Sona could feel a slight chill, like on a summer night.
"I could try to take a roundabout route, but sometimes the direct route is the simplest," Sithri smiled, remembering Rias' words when they were having a casual conversation. Greemory complained about everything, and she listened silently and supported her friend. Sometimes it was the other way around.
"It's hard to argue with that. Sometimes overcomplicating things can lead to false conclusions, which can ultimately destroy any work.
Sona narrowed her eyes slightly. And then there was that manner of speech: too academic. Young men never talk like that, even if they were born and raised in demonic high society. Pompous and arrogant, yes, but not academic. Many social teenagers her age and appearance don't like to study. An objective fact that shows demons in a bad light.
"You know that I, Rias, and Akeno are demons.
"Not a question, but a statement," Castor nodded, and his smile became much warmer. Sona snorted. She could be wrong, but Brinel's facial expressions told her she was right. He may have hidden his eyes, but not the rest of his face. And even from that, she could read the boy's emotions, although she didn't see anything obvious.
"Your smile gave you away.
"You're right," the man nodded, not denying her conclusion. "And that's a very good sign, demonstrating that my personality hasn't yet degenerated into a state of constant contemplation and detachment from the world around me.
Sona blinked and stared at Castor in confusion, who smiled even warmer in response. Now it didn't look like he was mocking those around him, but like a genuine smile. Hmm... She definitely didn't understand that sentence. What degradation?
"That's right. I realised which of my students was a demon on my very first day here. You hid well, but it wasn't enough to fool my instincts and senses.
Sitri frowned. To sense a demon, one must possess certain magical abilities. Especially when she personally cast a concealment spell on the school uniform! And she had consulted many skilled magicians in this field! You need to possess certain artefacts or abilities on the level of the highest demons! If all this is true, then she was sitting in front of a powerful magician. Or not a human at all — her glasses, designed for analysis, were simply incapable of seeing the details! An illusion or...
"Allow me to introduce myself, Castor Brinel," the young man nodded. "Archmage of Gildam Arcanum and the last representative of my kind. I ended up here due to an incredible coincidence with no real possibility of returning home.
"And where from, if you don't mind me asking?" Sona calmed herself and returned to a neutral expression, although her anxiety had not gone away. There were too many questions that needed answers. And many of these questions were related to the intentions of the archmage of an organisation she had never heard of.
"From another world," replied a calm male voice, and his icy, slightly glowing eyes looked straight at her. Her glasses slid down to the tip of her nose, and her thoughts stopped as she tried to comprehend what she had heard.
"What...?"
***
"Do you plan to tell everyone about your origins?"
"Do you have any good reason to be concerned?"
"Yes, indeed! Aliens from other worlds are as rare as Longinus! I would even say they are rarer and much more valuable!" exclaimed Ddraig heartily while Castor changed into his home clothes. His academy uniform was put away in the wardrobe, and he was now wearing loose trousers and a T-shirt with a picture of the local constellations. Brinel sat down phlegmatically at the kitchen table while the coffee maker worked its magic, preparing the mage's favourite coffee.
He sighed. There was no point in blaming Ddraig for his concern: the lizard wouldn't want to feel the same pain as his host in the event of vivisection. Yes, it was indeed unpleasant.
"Can you give me access to tactile sensations?!"
Castor remained silent because his thoughts were occupied with the pleasant bitterness of the coffee. Ah, that drink... A long time ago, his sister had offered him a taste of this masterpiece. Brinel fell in love, but he had almost no opportunity to experience this pleasure again. When the Dark Dawn came, he could only taste it by remembering that magical moment with his sister.
"I'm going to make a joke now. A very dirty joke..."
The mage silently put down his half-empty mug of coffee and exhaled slowly. A pleasant warmth spread through his body, and his thoughts froze like insects in amber. Including his desire to turn the ancient dragon into "ancient dragon steak." As strange as it may sound, his bond with his sister was incredibly strong, for she had become his only ray of light during his years of virtual imprisonment under the Inquisition. Neither his father nor his mother could visit him, and his brother... His brother envied his power. Stupid... But understandable stupidity.
Returning to the question of the lizard inside him, the retired archmage did not consider this information dangerous to him. He certainly had the ability to return, but why? To fly around in a vacuum and look at the icy debris of a once beautiful planet? And the probability of creatures from this world ending up in Cairn was so low that it could easily be mistaken for statistical error. And what would they do there? Die in the cold and terrible cosmos? Somehow find a way to contact H'ton or the Ethereals? They'd probably be killed quickly or vivisected. However, the Ethereal spirits might be interested in the durable bodies of the local magical creatures...
"Okay, but what if they hunt you down?"
Castor silently rose from his chair, grabbed his mug and finished his coffee in one gulp. Exhaling, he put the cup in the sink, threw a light jacket over his shoulders and put on his trainers. Extremely comfortable footwear for walking and hunting renegades.
"Then I'll add a minus to the local temperature of hell or whatever abode the local creatures inhabit."
Changing climatic conditions in certain areas is the prerogative of shamans, but Brinel has enough power to push through his will with brute force. Plus, during the Dark Dawn, he spent six months with a couple of shamans who taught him a couple of spells. Nothing special, but it makes some rituals easier.
"Where are you going? Didn't you plan to check out that computer game called Titan Quest?" asked Ddraig as the mage quickly left the house, closing the door with the rune of Hagarrad. The same runes were also placed on the windows to protect against thieves. Perhaps it was overkill, but it wasn't worth trying to steal from an archmage. Besides, a thief would stand in the ice for a couple of hours before realising what they had done.
"I sensed a surge of demonic energy outside the city. It's too big to be an accident or the work of the local higher demons," Castor sucked in a breath and jumped up, landing on the roof of a house.
"Outside the city? How many kilometres?"
"One hundred and twenty to the east.
"Ah... I see... You know, many demons would envy your sensitivity."
Castor ignored the dragon's words and rushed towards the source of the surge. He wouldn't have paid much attention, but the mage sensed that old "smell" that Brinel was accustomed to: blood. Freshly spilled blood, just like the blood on the altars of occultists and cultists. It was the same blood that had been collected from living people, like apples, and given back to the Dying God. It was this fact that the archmage disliked so much: if human blood had been spilled because of the demons' desires, he would turn them into works of art to decorate the student council.
It was not difficult to get to the crash site. The Night Blades' technology allows them to develop incredible speeds, and add magic to that, and you get an incredible result. So Castor quickly found himself near the destroyed road. He stopped and looked around: the road surface and the fence had been turned into a sieve, the grass had been torn out in chunks, and there were drops of blood next to the craters. Taking a breath, Brinel scratched his nose. No, there was too much of an unusual energy here. There had been a fight between demons and someone else.
The mage closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. His body was quickly covered with shadows that seemed to embrace the charmer with their shreds. Castor glanced at his hands and saw a familiar picture: blurriness, some transparency, and even blurring. It was a spell created by this department for infiltration and silent elimination. Brinel used it more to create ice storms among enemies after infiltrating their camp. Diving into the shadows of a tree, the mage began jumping between them along the road, assessing the situation.
"The repairs will cost the authorities a pretty penny.
"The body of a demon. Died of... — the archmage stepped out of the shadows and approached the corpse of the abyssal spawn. The question appeared and instantly disappeared when Castor looked further: the man's head was lying a little further away. It had been brutally torn off, as if he had been attacked by a wild Mogdrogan shaman.
"Wendigo would be a great addition to the circus that some call the magical world."
Bodies, bodies, and more bodies. With torn-off body parts or organs and rib cages torn to shreds. With every metre he walked, Brinel's anxiety grew: the signs of a wendigo were too obvious. The only thing missing was bite marks or chewed and eaten body parts. These cannibals even manage to tear off a piece of flesh and devour it in the heat of battle.
"Are Wendigos that dangerous?"
"On their own, they are as dangerous as wild, bloodthirsty, rabid animals, but with every piece of human flesh they eat, they become stronger," the mage said phlegmatically, stepping over the demon's body, torn in half. "I even had to destroy their deity, in fact. A twisted avatar of nature that craved only to devour and destroy.
"So, how is that different from that hungry blob?" Brinel snorted. If Ddraig had seen Yogul in real life, he would have turned white with horror.
"The difference is that wendigos mainly devour people, not concepts and ideas.
However, Castor quickly dismissed his assumption, remembering that these twisted spirits felt completely different and were extremely irritating to his senses. The rotten smell of blood and flesh, the sticky feeling on the back of his neck, the taste of decay on his tongue, and the whispers offering incredible power for practically nothing. Not to mention the inhuman hunger that turned people into beasts and made them eat their former kin. But no, there were no such sensations here. Which meant... Someone or something had decided to have some fun with the crowd of low-level demons...
"Risk is associated with high rewards, dangers, and knowledge. And I am a person who has been accustomed to this kind of life for a long time."
***
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