1,000,000 Karma: My Reward Is a Quiet Life-Chapter 84: Of Realms and Chaos

"Tell me, have you heard of the Transient Realm?" The peculiar man asked with wide, unblinking eyes that stared at the sealed gateway. "It’s a world just like ours, only an infinitesimal fragment of an atom in size."

"--" Lamore caught his breath, letting the cultist talk if it meant giving himself the time to recover.

The unnaturally pale man continued with a smile enrichened by curiosity, "There’s a realm the opposite of that. Compared to it, we’re a Transient Realm–completely negligible to its vast reaches. Can you imagine it? Our world, filled to the brim with boundless magics and monsters, joyous calamities–to think, there’s another realm that dwarfs ours. I must see it, I absolutely must—the Grand Realm."

"What does that have to do with Ballou...?" Lamore questioned, speaking even as he winced from his wounds. "--This city, its people–why can’t you just leave things be?!"

"To leave things be," the enigmatic figure repeated before looking back with a tilt of his head, staring right at the elf with his unblinking, silver eyes. "Isn’t that boring?"

"Boring...?" Lamore repeated, clutching his gauntlet as it throttled.

"Yes, boring," the pale man reiterated. "The same way peace is boring. It breeds stagnation, when innovation is what pushes this world forward, hurling it into the exhilarating unknown."

[Descartes, Marquis of Curiosity]

"That brings us here, to the Quantum Tomb. It’s been here before this city was built, yes, thousands of years old," Descartes explained. "What do you believe is being kept here, hmm? Come on–guess."

Lamore had no urge to play along with the madman’s games, though spoke only if it meant he had a moment more to find an opening, "An entrance to the Grand Realm?"

"Ah, good guess, good guess! Bravo!" Descartes clapped his hands together in praise before suddenly shifting his tone. "But, not exactly. You see, the Quantum Tomb does possess a way to access the Grand Realm, but it’s not a direct route." 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

It was apparent the high-ranking cultist liked to hear himself speak. That, or he was simply so enthusiastic he simply couldn’t help himself.

In reality, there was a direct reason the cultist was happy to explain: he believed there was nothing they could do.

"If you want to know more, I’ll be happy to show you—by opening the seal," Descartes offered.

While the cultist held his hand out as a gesture of his self-thought benevolent deal, it was silently rejected by the sprout of unnatural roots.

"Oh?" Descartes watched as the living wood wrapped itself around his body, slithering around his limbs. "I see–the little one is quite tenacious."

With blood running from her nose, the goblin fighter huffed, holding her hand out to manipulate the binding roots. The grin didn’t fade from the follower of GOETIA, even as the elf brought his gauntlet back in front of him, readying for a devastating blow–

It was a look Lamore had learned to hate in his many years alive. That tinge of madness, detached from any value of life; death was not a punishment for these kinds of people.

With everything he could muster, the wounded elf drove his steel knuckles in front of him. He punched with the intent of bursting through the cultist’s back, shattering the roots that held him in place.

"Pyuuu–" Descartes spit out, being driven back.

The force behind the blow left the cultist’s body bouncing off the ground before slamming into the sealed door. Some disappointment came from the silver-haired veteran as he failed to punch a hole through the repulsive man, only blaming his fatigued, wounded body.

While the madman laid there, soon laughter crawled from his unmoving body before the cultist suddenly rose without any assistance from his arms. Several ’cracks" emitted from Descartes as he realigned himself before exhaling as if waking up after sleeping in a bad position.

"That wasn’t very kind of you, Mr. Lamore," Descartes reprimanded with a grin.

The wounded elf huffed to himself, though was hardly surprised by the survival of his enemy, ’Exactly why I hate these guys. Logic just doesn’t apply.’

A glance back was all that was needed to confirm that Ogatrina wouldn’t help further. She was barely hanging onto consciousness by now, with even less mana to cling to. For all intents and purposes, Lamore was fighting alone.

"I feel your untwistable hatred, loud and clear," Descartes remarked. "You won’t yield until you’re dead. Let’s see, Mr. Lamore–how much of my curiosity can you endure?"

From the pale man’s outstretched hand, the air shifted with unnatural phenomena. To the eyes of the centuries-old elf, the creations that spawned were unrecognizable: spears empowered by fire, propelling forward with speed that broke the sound barrier.

By pure instinct, Lamore moved to evade, dashing through the vast, empty space of the chamber, though the heat-seeking projectiles tracked him perfectly. They struck all around the elf, releasing into explosions of heat.

"Missiles," Descartes snapped his fingers. "Who knows what era mankind develops these? What a beautiful explosion they make, though."

From the fading smoke, the elf remained on his feet, his now burnt body trembling behind the gauntlets that stood between him and being entirely charred.

"Pistol," Descartes invoked with a smile, holding his hand out.

In his grip, a barrelled weapon from advancements of unknown years into the future was born with a simple thought.

Lamore moved his wounded body with a sharp step to the right—

"Bang," Descartes said.

A hole bore itself through the elf’s knee, stopping the veteran in his tracks.

"Nrgh—?!" Lamore winced.

Descartes’ finger squeezed the trigger again, "Bang."

Another shot fired, piercing the elf’s kidney with brutal precision. As blood squirted from the newly-formed holes, leaving the exhausted elf gasping, laughter drew from the Marquis of Curiosity.

"It’s amazing, isn’t it?! Splendid! Splendid! Splendid!" Descartes repeated in ecstasy, pulling the trigger with each shout.

All Lamore could do was shield himself with his gauntlets as the bullets bounced off the steel, others grazing his skin.

Amidst the ecstatic shooting, the pale figure blinked as a certain "shift" came in the air. Curving in from both sides, a black lightning bolt was joined by another of a cerulean glow. Steel doors manifested on either side of the Marquis, intercepting the sudden electricity.

"I see, I see, others join the fray!" Descartes joyously exclaimed.

Noah rushed into the chamber alongside Sylvan, though the sight was dreadful at best—the goblin woman and the elf were barely in the column of "breathing." Not to mention, the pale man with the bowl-cut was unsettling just to look at.

"Dammit–!" Sylvan clicked her tongue at the state of the others, readying another heaping serving of lightning around her claymore.

While he fully intended on supporting the swordswoman on the offense, he hesitated for a moment as a distinct rumbling took hold of the chamber–

The colossal chains around the gateway on the other side jingled with the sudden tremors. By the excited grin painted on the Marquis’ face, there was no doubt it was his doing. A sound that Noah knew met his ears, though one he never thought he’d hear after coming to this world:

The blast of a train horn, bellowing like a beast empowered by steam. It was muffled, as if coming from a different room before–the walls on both sides of the chamber collapsed.

From both ends, the steam-powered transports charged in like serpents built of metal. It was a sight utterly confusing for the swordswoman, while Noah recognized them immediately.

’Trains?!’ He thought.

Like a conductor, the Marquis pointed towards them, guiding the charging trains in their direction, "Aren’t they wonderful?!"

[The Snake’s Eye]

As his perception heightened, he saw the front of the steam-powered vehicle mere meters in front of him. The horn blared from the unmanned train, filling his ears and vibrating the ground beneath his boots.

He moved himself out of its path like baiting a raging bull, leaving the out-of-place innovation ram through multiple pillars and walls.

’I don’t know what’s going on, but did that guy summon these trains–? What kind of ability even is that, in a world like this?’ He questioned in disbelief.

While his pre-existing knowledge saved him, Sylvan wasn’t as lucky, being rammed into by the train as it carried her through walls of stone. By the angry shouts mixing with the blaring train horns, he knew the swordswoman was at least in one piece.

Using a pillar to support himself, he saw the elven man hardly able to stand as blood gushed from his wounds. He hurried over, granting his shoulder to help Lamore stand.

"Nngh...Thanks," Lamore said weakly.

"Of course," Noah said, applying recovery magic as best he could, looking towards the cultist, confused by the lack of follow-up. "What’s that guy, anyway?"

To his surprise, the enigmatic figure simply stood there with a waiting smile.

"One of the Marquis," Lamore answered while attempting to regain his breath. "The highest ranking members of GOETIA...Be careful...The Marquis possess the favor of the Primordials."

"Primordials?" Noah repeated.

"Don’t let...him get his way," Lamore pleaded.