Umbra waited cautiously, his impatience rising with every passing second.
The supposed attacker perhaps had inevitably halted his assault.
If not, why then will he just quieten down?
It had been almost half an hour after the beautiful princess left, yet Umbra remained in that same defensive stance.
"Come on," he cajoled. "You want a fight, don't you? I will give you a befitting one."
He had no doubts on who the mystery attacker was.
Not really meant to be called a mystery. There was only one logical possibility.
Not that he could still trust logic now, of all times.
After the god of death and the mysterious savior princess, he doubted if anything could surprise him now.
But his guess…Maris Djata, of course.
"I bet years of inanimate torpidity has unnerved you…you're just raring to fight anything in sight!"
Silence. No response.
Only his reverberating words replied to him.
He had been trying several times to coax, or infuriate Maris Djata, wherever he was.
Once or twice, he had heard a swishing cloak and an afterimage, but in those instances he never saw anything.
He even tried tracking any strange essence.
But the sorcerer, evidently stronger and more skilled, could obviously mask it completely.
He glanced around slowly for the umpteenth time, keeping himself on edge.
His shoulders slumped in dismay.
"Come on out!" He screamed into absolute silence. "You're making the whole thing trite!"
Similar reaction. Complete snobbery.
This went on for another ten minutes or so.
For a while, Umbra decided to forget about the lurking attacker.
Instead, he began to rethink the mysteries of the day.
First…the god of Death.
That giant of a god had granted him permission because he…what was that he said again…the Ancestor's favorite.
Umbra didn't even think about it.
He already knew that it would simply yield futile dormancy.
He had never even found out about the Ancestor till today, when the whispers mentioned him.
So, how could he be the favorite of a person he knew nothing about?
He made a mental note to ask Ragna once he got back. And another thing…that 'favorite' sounded suspicious.
His mind pricked with a sudden inspiration.
One that made him instantly spit in disgust almost immediately.
And here it went:
It was an absurd thought but…what if the Ancestor was gay?
So that meant that he was already dedicated…or rather, betrothed to a homosexual primordial deity.
Umbra knew of children dedicated to specific gods at birth.
Those children would either be accepted by the gods, and granted abilities, or rather…
Be killed.
But the second option rarely happened, since gods were known to only accept people from a specific bloodline.
Also, the gods were unpredictable, so they could reject and accept total strangers at random.
So everything was just a one time shot.
But also, there were some notorious pervert gods, who'd choose beautiful children, irrespective of gender, to be theirs, right from childhood.
The only way to escape that, was to be dedicated to a stronger god.
Mild despair filled his head, relegating the present danger for later emphasis.
But then, there seemed to be a loophole.
He'd only just recalled that he was not born in Incarnian territory.
So, he couldn't have been dedicated to a god at childbirth.
Unless the god had been waiting for him dormantly for so long.
No…he couldn't just kill his only excuse like that.
He sighed in relief.
He'd only just discovered that ever since that painful realization, he had unconsciously been holding his breath.
But then, a person could be dedicated to a god even in middle age.
He just remembered that some priestesses were chosen as adults.
He decided to disregard that loophole entirely.
As far as he was concerned, no god could own him.
Without the locket, he'd be stronger than most boys.
So shall it be.
That's for that.
And then, over to the second mystery:
Why was the ancestor unknown when he seemed so powerful?
So powerful that spirits capable of speaking the immortal tongue needed a wager sworn in his name, before they could trust him.
At that point, for the first time since he touched that altar, he remembered the spirits.
They had helped him with a truth he realized the 'hard way' and he didn't honor his own part of the wager.
So therefore, he had to.
With immediate effect.
He didn't know if he still had enough strength to do it.
But he had to try.
The moment he broke his stance, he heard it.
The ripples of another wind technique.
"Why now?!"
He somersaulted skillfully, landing meters away. He barely had time to catch his breath…
But the caster instantly redirected the technique to his new position.
Umbra ducked again, rolling across a wide berth to escape another offensive.
He instantly crouched to duck behind a gigantic pillar.
He felt the wind slash hit the pillar. Felt in buckle under the weight.
Another, then another. Barrage after waves hit the pillar and Umbra knew it wouldn't last long.
Even though he kept reinforcing it with the dying tendrils of his power.
He needed to buy himself some time.
Enough time to…
He clasped his locket in his hand, glancing down at it.
It was icy to his touch, contrary to his body temperature when he woke from his stint in unconsciousness.
He needed a boost in his powers as he was dangerously weak at the moment.
That necromancy had drained every last bit of his energy.
Even how he could still strengthen the pillar was a miracle as he could hardly stand.
His hands played subconsciously with his locket, as he still watched for any other sneak attack.
He didn't really know what that puny sorcerer had in mind.
Unless something went wrong during the interaction and tampered with his summon's mind.
Perhaps making him evil.
Or rather, a little bit too mad.
That could be possible though.
It could also be that someone able had gone out of their way to give him a poisoned chalice.
Umbra knew a few people hated his existence, and all that.
But he knew also that none of them would go through the stress of doing all this just to eliminate him.
But maybe some would.
But then, another Prince would be born almost immediately after his demise.
So why eliminate him?
He couldn't even go on thinking.
A sudden jolt reminded him that he still had someone to deal with.
Also, it could also be that he summoned the wrong sorcerer.
Not possible either. He spoke succinctly enough when he mentioned his name.
Trying to coax the locket into 'lending' him some powers was a lost cause.
No one had to tell him this.
Just then, he felt another incoming barrage.
And he didn't want to know what element it would be.
He rolled aside sharply, and the spell hit the pillar, trampling it down.
His attacker wasn't using elemental powers again.
He had switched to sorcery.
Umbra dived farther, and he felt a second spell a second too late.
SLAM.
He tumbled into a pillar, sliding limply to the ground in a mess.
Almost immediately, an explosion rocked his entire frame, blasting him meters into the air.
He realized that the spell that hit him had been coalesced with an explosion technique.
He crossed his arms around his chest, and a defensive barrier covered him.
He didn't really know how he did those things. It just came instinctively.
And being in the bubble healed him too. Though on a very slow scale.
He had to learn how to improve his abilities, and soon.
But at least, something good had happened.
His strength was back. In full force.
Though at the moment, he still felt a slight throbbing headache.
Well, one could not recover from such a near death experience as fast as that.
It had to be a miracle.
But then, there were many miracles associated with him right from time.
He stretched his hand, essence bristled around his palm, morphing into a bland sword.
"Maris Djata!" His tone dripped with raw contempt.
He had a plan ready. A rickety plan but still good enough for him.
"You were resummoned to serve me…in eternal servitude –" he stressed the word 'eternal' "–and yet you're playing renegade even before you've begun?"
He laughed cynically, still on an intent lookout.
"You don't really learn your lessons…didn't I read that you were killed for rebellion back then in the past?"
Just as he completed that statement, he turned in a full circle guffawing in loud egoist laughter, arms outstretched in opposite directions.
Laughter that sounded fake to his own ears.
Just as he turned his back to a certain pillar, he felt a slight slash.
He knew. And he couldn't do anything.
A gale of wind shot out from the ceiling downwards, originating from behind that pillar.
Umbra surely saw it late; he didn't expect such an absurd directional strike.
He didn't detect the stale essence until now.
And that had been his own undoing.
Subsequently, he braced himself for impact