Return of the Runebound Professor

Chapter 896: The Best Option

The Imperator of Man hated the snake mask on his face. For that matter, he hated the idea of a masquerade on a fundamental level. The entire idea behind them was an affront to everything he stood for. They were a way for the weak to hide and cower among the strong, pretending to be greater than they were.

To cover one’s face was to run from the reputation that it had earned. Great or pathetic, kind or evil, god or man — every single being had made themselves into something. Even nothing was something. It was identity. And there was nothing the Imperator hated more than someone who ran from their identity.

It was ironic. The Imperator had seen men who had every reason to be proud of their success cower because of the smallest failures that they believed to mar their name. He had seen mages so completely worthless that their existence was an affront to any sensible man stand proud because of a single middling accomplishment.

And between the two, he would take the failure of a mage a thousand times before he ever considered the coward. The power of a mage was in who they believed themselves to be. Those who forged ahead with confidence, even if their skill was lacking, would always be useful in some manner or another.

And then there were the rare few cases where a mage was both. Confident and strong. Someone who didn’t hesitate to let others see their failures because their victories had been so great that the shadow of defeat did nothing but make their success shine brighter in comparison.

A masquerade smothered all of that. It hid the strong and the weak. Leveled the field to a bunch of pointless political shuffling, where the worst of society could pretend that they stood on equal footing as the truly strong. It disgusted him.

The Imperator was tempted to rip his disguise off and throw it to the side. But today, he had a purpose. One that was important enough to wade through the wretched party that Vivian had set up.

He had no doubt that the other Faction Heads were searching hard for their targets. The future of their empires depended heavily on the results of this tournament. If there was one thing they all agreed upon, it was that the future laid on the shoulders of new mages.

The more powerful a man became, the more set in his ways he was. Even being aware of that fact did little to change it. The Imperator had grown more in his first hundred years of life than he had in the last six hundred. He had perfected and honed his skills — but his course had not changed.

He was strong. Stronger than nearly everyone else in Obsidia. And he knew that. But potential was the most valuable resource in Obsidia. And potential was not a rare resource. New powerful mages were everywhere. And in the right circumstances, those new mages would hold the potential to surpass him.

Not that most of them would. The majority would die well before they could even come to fruition. But a few would survive. Precious few.

And if he could find them — well, that was what every Faction Head was hoping to do. There was only so much that a lone Rank 8 could do and they all knew it. A few of them on the same side, on the other hand… those mages could change the world.

This is a tournament for the future. But the other Faction Heads aren’t looking into it far enough. They’re all trawling through the Rank 6 and 7s, trying to look for the most powerful mage. But those aren’t the real targets. Potential can be seen far earlier than Rank 6.

Rank 4 and 5 is where the unpolished gems lay. The ones with the chance to change the future, overlooked entirely because everyone is so focused on the present strength that they forget the difference between Rank 4 and 6 is nothing more than a blip in time compared to that of a Rank 7 and 8.

And the Imperator already had his eyes on a few different people. His men did as well. He’d sent them out the moment the masquerade had started, but he didn’t expect the other Faction Heads to be putting up much resistance in that area.

While they fought over the chance to woo the most powerful mages in the tournament, the Imperator would happily scoop up all the potential that laid just beneath their noses.

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He swept through the huge masquerade hall, ignoring all the milling people and conversations muddying the air around him. He’d already visited several of his targets. Three had been receptive. They’d accepted the favor he’d offered them.

It would not be long before they joined the Horde of Man.

And his next target wasn’t far. They certainly hadn’t made it difficult to find them. After the commotion they’d caused, he had no doubt some of the other Faction Heads were at least vaguely aware of their presence. He’d had to wait a little to make sure he didn’t look too eager.

But he’d waited long enough.

The Imperator strode into one of the halls’ many dining areas. He slipped past the waiters and people gathered around the tables as he headed straight for his target. And even though he knew what he was looking for, the Imperator nearly coughed. The mage in question wasn’t exactly hard to find.

A small mountain of plates had been stacked up on the table before them, which they had singlehandedly occupied. Their mask had been pushed over to the side of their head, and instead of using any utensils, they were just shoving various dishes into their mouth with their hands.

I suppose I should have expected this.

The Imperator drew up to them. Even though the mage’s face was still somewhat concealed by their hood, he knew exactly who this was. He’d observed her fight during the melee rounds with no little amount of interest — but he hadn’t quite expected their gluttony to run this deep.

He wasn’t sure if he was amused or annoyed to find that the mage hadn’t even glanced in his direction. She just kept shoveling food — and the kitchenware it sat upon — into her mouth.

The Imperator waited for a few more seconds before he cleared his throat.

“You can put it in the pile,” the mage said through mouthful of food. She didn’t so much as pause chewing.

Does she think me to be a waiter?

The Imperator couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. But he had never once disliked a mage who stayed true to themselves.

“I am not here to give you a meal,” he said. “It seems you already have more than enough of those.”

“Then you can leave,” the mage said, grabbing another plate from her pile.

The Imperator’s lips curled in amusement. “I would suggest you lend me at least one of your ears for a short while. You will regret the missed opportunity if you do not.”

The mage swallowed. She paused for a moment. Then she glanced at him.

“Do I know you?”

“No,” he replied. “But I know you. You performed well during the melee rounds. Well enough to catch my interest. That deserves congratulations.”

“Oh. Yeah. Hold on. Let me get a napkin or something,” The small mage said.

The Imperator smiled behind his mask. She was taking things seriously now. It seemed she’d remembered why she had come to the tournament in the first place. Even the densest mage would realize that someone approaching them like this meant it was likely a recruitment offer.

He waited as she grabbed a napkin. But, instead of wiping her mouth off, she glanced around the table before snagging a drumstick and hurriedly dragging it across the napkin, leaving behind a squiggly smear of meat grease. Then she handed the napkin to the Imperator.

“What?” He asked, staring at it in befuddlement.

“Signature,” the mage said. “All yours.”

The Imperator looked up from the napkin. His target had already returned to shoveling food into her mouth. It seemed she’d somehow already forgotten about him. His eye twitched slightly.

She thinks… I am a fan?

Does she even know what the purpose of this tournament is?

“I am not here for your signature,” the Imperator said, tossing the napkins onto the table. “I’m here for you.”

The mage paused midway through reaching for a steak. She blew out a slow breath. Then she turned toward him, squinting out from the darkness of her hood. She sniffed the air. Even though the Imperator couldn’t quite make out her features, he noticed a tinge of annoyance in her posture.

“I don’t think I know you. That mask is annoying.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the Imperator agreed. “But—”

The mage reached out and snagged a finger beneath the Imperator’s mask. Then, to his absolute disbelief, she pulled it up to take a look at his face.

He could have easily stopped her, but his surprise was so great that he didn’t even manage to react until the mage had released his mask, letting it snap back down into face with a loud thwack.

“Yup,” she said. “Don’t know you.”

Then she turned back to her meal.

The Imperator stood in stunned disbelief for several long seconds. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been bold enough to touch him, much less pull a mask off his face and then snap it right back into his nose.

How bold could one possibly be, to do that to someone who they don’t know at all?

Then the corner of his lip twitched.

He turned and strode away, leaving the mage to her meal.

Perhaps masquerades weren’t so bad after all. People would have offered up their own families in sacrifice to him before they would have ever knowingly committed such an insult. The Imperator couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared so little about his presence that they had genuinely just acted exactly as they desired to.

This was exactly the kind of mage he was looking for. It didn’t matter what rank she was. An attitude like that… it was perfect.

Enjoy your food, little mage. This is not over.

Such arrogance. Such unyielding desire to follow your path. Yes. That is exactly why I came here.

I couldn’t think of a better candidate to be my disciple.