Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 78: Arson, and Other Heroic Acts

I should’ve been focused on the task at hand—the cult had pushed ahead with whatever schedule they were running on. They had continued to expand, and now that they knew, that we knew, they didn’t have time to take things slow. The cult had established multiple supply caches, their own logistics network to expedite their progress.

I had a few different things in mind, equally interested in their supply caches but for significantly different reasons. I preparing to burn it all to the ground, maybe steal what I can if the opportunity arises, ideally kill a few of the scum before making it out alive, the hero of the Academy–an unsung hero at least. As important as this whole operation was, my mind kept drifting to Mara, the note she left behind, the feelings she left behind.

Mara had been locked away with her studies, preferring to avoid Ronan and myself, going as far as taking her meals in her room, and not so much as giving me a passing glance during classes. That was fine, I could deal with the cold shoulder so long as she was safe and prospering. It was all a small price to pay for her future. Maybe in time, she would allow me closer again, maybe in time I could tell her the truth.

I can’t do this anymore.

The words clung to me like a sickness, festering in my chest no matter how many times I tried to push them aside. I wanted to be angry, to tell myself that she was abandoning us, abandoning me, but I couldn’t. I got it. She was tired. She was hurt. I could justify it all I wanted, but at the end of the day, she had still walked away, and it would be best for her in the end.

And now, here I was, still going on with our project, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. As I thought more about it, it really was a blessing in disguise. I could keep Mara away from this madness. Oh, the things we do for love.

"You are distracted," Ronan said, breaking me out of my spiraling thoughts. He crouched beside me on the ledge overlooking the warehouse we had been staking out for the last hour. His blank expression didn’t give away whether he was annoyed or simply making an observation.

I sighed. "I’m fine."

"You are not fine."

"Appreciate the analysis, but now’s not really the time for a therapy session."

Ronan tilted his head. "Then when is the time?"

I shot him a glare. "Preferably after we’re not about to blow up a warehouse full of god-knows-what."

Ronan nodded, accepting that answer without further question, which was both a relief and slightly unsettling.

Below, cultists moved in and out of the decrepit building, loading crates onto wagons, and reinforcing the wards along the perimeter. The wards would likely be an issue I would have to find a way around unless Ronan learned some new spells, which wasn’t entirely unlikely. He did seem to just show up with strange and powerful spells. Perhaps those hours were spent stone-still in class, staring unblinkingly at the professor to the point of causing extreme distress.

Whatever was inside the warehouses was clearly valuable enough to warrant such a level of protection. It was overkill for a run-down building, but maybe they were thinking too small if they really did have a significant stockpile. They thought they were secure enough–despite my previous...interactions with the cult, they seemed to be rather lax. Well, if they weren’t going to take me seriously, I would have to change that for them. I think a little bit of Ronan’s signature arson should do the trick.

I turned back to Ronan. "Alright, let’s make this quick. We go in, plant the accelerant, steal anything that looks useful, and get out before they even know we were here."

Ronan blinked. "You have explosives?"

"...Not explosives, accelerant. You are the explosive, I just need to make sure the fire can spread far enough throughout the warehouse that it takes out everything before they can take any countermeasures to extinguish the flame. Think you are up for that?"

Ronan gave a slow nod, then raised a hand. Small flames danced along his fingertips. "I will solve this with arson."

"Indeed you will Ronan, indeed you will." I cracked my knuckles and reached for my daggers. "Let’s sow the seeds of chaos."

We slipped through the shadows, bypassing the outer patrols with ease–I would have to take them out in our escape. Every kill meant XP and I had gone too long without earning XP, that much was apparent in my fight with that assassin-mage hybrid.

[Shadow Dance Activated]

[Mana: 80/100]

I disappeared with Ronan, sinking into the darkness between the stacks of crates. I took out a can of kerosine and punctured it with my dagger before maneuvering my way toward the main storage area, leaving a trail of oil in my wake. The place was alive with activity, but as I said, they were lax and likely had no idea what was yet to come. Ronan followed closely, and not for the first time, his eerie silence came in handy–I only hoped he didn’t have a random question that urged him to seek the answers at a less-than-opportune time.

The inside of the warehouse was far more than I had anticipated. As I passed between cover I was able to take note of just how much they had stockpiled here. Crates lined the walls, filled with God only knows what. I doubted they would have irreplaceable relics, but there were likely more practical supplies. Foodstuffs, garb, and perhaps some trade goods to fund what I could only assume was a very costly venture. Most of the crates were nondescript, but every so often I would see a familiar family crest.

I paused and reached a hand out to indicate I needed to speak with Ronan.

"Ronan," I began in a hushed tone. "Does that crest look familiar to you?" I pointed off to a small stack of crates piled up in the corner of the warehouse, a few cultists rifling through and organizing the goods within.

"Yes," Ronan replied in the same hushed tone.

"Yes... And?" I pressed for more information.

"Yes, and they are the crest of my family. These are Vairmont​ crates, used to transport various relics, artifacts, enchanted equipment, and ingredients alike."

"Oh wow, if we could manage to sneak off with ever a handful of what they have in there, we could set ourselves up for greater success on our next mission. Here, take a bag of holding, we will make our way to the crate once the fire starts." I handed Ronan a bag and gave him quick instructions on how to use it. We would have to stuff as much as we could as quickly as we could before I made my mad dash to get out of here.

The desire to escape quickly only intensified as I noticed several crates of oils and powders, a high chance that they too would act as accelerants. I also noticed some of that ink-like substance the cult used in their rituals. I couldn’t be certain, but according to Mara’s descriptions, it seemed like the foul fluids. This was so much more than a supply cache—it was one of many staging grounds for their grand plan.

My stomach twisted. They were preparing for something we were still unaware of. Sure, we had a basic idea of what the ultimate goal was, but there were too many variables to put all of the pieces together.

Ronan gestured toward a series of marked boxes. "These contain the strongest magical signatures."

"Good. That means they’re important. Let’s make sure they don’t leave this place in one piece."

We worked quickly, setting up makeshift fire traps with the aid of some strange form of runes Ronan seemed to pull out of thin air. I continued dousing flammable materials in the rest of the oil I had brought along. The air reeked of chemicals, clinging to my throat as I moved between the stacks of supplies. We would have to make our move soon or risk someone noticing. The least amount of accelerant was used as we made our way closer to the Vairmont crate, ideally buying us enough time to fill our pouches–not that we could, these things could hold impossible quantities of goods–and spirit away into the night. Maybe land a few killing blows on the way out.

A pair of cultists entered from the far side, their boots scraping against the stone floor as they carried another crate inside. They were talking—something about an upcoming ritual—but my focus zeroed in on the weapons at their sides. If they saw us, if they managed to raise an alarm, we’d have a real fight on our hands.

I melted into the shadows, not using shadow dance, but rather blending in with my surroundings, creeping toward them as they set the crate down. Their voices were low, hushed, but I caught fragments.

"...High Priest said the next sacrifice will be within the week..."

"...Gate is almost ready..."

Great. More ominous bullshit I didn’t have time to deal with.

I struck fast. My dagger slid through the first cultist’s throat before he even realized he wasn’t alone. The second turned, eyes wide, but I was already on him, driving my blade between his ribs before he could cry out.

[You have successfully killed a cultist x2.]

Ronan watched impassively as the bodies slumped to the ground. "Efficient." ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"Had to be, the route they were taking would have left of exposed." I wiped my blade on one of their bodies before quickly dragging their corpses behind some crates and moved to finish helping Ronan with his runic fire traps.

Ronan held out his hand, sensing something. "The ink. It is reacting."

I turned to see the black liquid inside one of the ritual basins beginning to shift—almost like it was alive. It pulsed, as though responding to something. Mara mentioned death stood hand in hand with the cult. Did I excite these forces with my kills?

I didn’t like that. With what we had planned, if that ink survived the explosion, it would thrive in the cacophony of death.

With everything in place, Ronan gave me a sharp nod, signaling that it was time. I stepped back, took one last look at the cache, and whispered, "Light it up."

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