Chapter 78: What is Happening in 60th Dimension

  The next morning, Justinian woke up later than usual. His first reaction was to rush to the window to check the results of Micromegas's fearsome battle with the unknown assailant. Goosebumps appeared on his arms at the mere memory of that epic spectacle he had seen at night.

  Now, opening the window, his tense face became paler than usual. He swept his gaze far beyond the horizon, where he had observed Micromegas yesterday, then to the space where the city was located. The expression of disbelief, however, did not vanish from his face.

  It was all because of the fact that after yesterday's fight in the only city of the 60th dimension... nothing had changed?

  He frowned, looking at the devils who wandered by the lake in their usual rhythm, carrying things from the market or greeting friends with cunning winks. There was no atmosphere of feverishness or sensation; life went on even slower than yesterday.

  'There is also no trace of the terrifying energy I felt at night...'

  Concerned, he stepped back from the window, searching with the suspiciously honed senses of a cultivator for any changes in the surroundings.

  To no avail.

  This led him to an embarrassing, yet logical conclusion.

  'Was all of this just a dream?'

  Of course, he had dreams—grim nightmares of the event that broke his previous life and deprived him of his loved ones. They appeared less often than a few months ago, but such wounds needed time to heal.

  However, he had never confused a dream with reality to such an extent. Yet, could he draw any other conclusion in this situation?

  Feeling a sense of unpleasant anxiety upon hearing cheerful voices coming from the floor below, he decided to go down for breakfast.

  Downstairs, he was greeted by the sight of a group of companions engaged in their usual antics. Rudnicki senior, together with the Sarmatians, were busy consuming delicious bread prepared by Bogna, discussing politics while doing so. Septima sat in the corner, not deigning to bestow a look upon anyone, and Franciszek was politely clearing his plate after the meal, to soon leave for his daily poetry training.

  "How was the night?"

  Justinian's voice interrupted the conversation of the noblemen he had joined, greeting the others with a nod.

  "Quite passable, my dear friend. This residence is not our beautiful village of the 66th dimension, but at a pinch, one can endure here until the end of the conference."

  Rudnicki answered him, immediately supported by the surrounding Sarmatians.

  Justinian smiled wryly hearing this. However much he wondered, he didn't see any flaws in the residence and was sure that even the Voivodes wouldn't despise such a beautiful estate on the very shore of the lake. However, he knew the splendor in which these mustached devil nobles lived, so he didn't intend to argue.

  Another issue was of greater importance to him.

  'Good to see they are in slightly better moods.'

  This particularly applied to Nikodem Rudnicki, who after a painful humiliation in the "clash" with Ericus had lost his typical cheerfulness. Worryingly, however, it seemed that the Sarmatians didn't notice anything unusual at night.

  'Not only can I still not solve my problems with the saber, but I am also starting to confuse dreams with reality.'

  The returning humor of the nobles seemed related to the fact that in some strange way they wanted to... take revenge on the voivode of the 61st dimension?

  "Hahaha, you will see, Gloomy Judge, during the ball we will show everyone how pathetic Ericus and his backwater are!"

  One of the Sarmatians at the Foundation Stabilization level assured him, slapping him on the shoulder while doing so. Others answered with joyful shouts, and some even reached for their drinks. Watching the devils start drinking from the very morning, Justinian was afraid to even think what their alleged revenge would consist of.

  Soon, only Justinian with Nikodem Rudnicki and Septima sitting further away were left in the dining room. The first two were still conversing with each other when the doors to the courtyard opened, and the nobleman Seweryn stood in the doorway.

  His grim face clearly betrayed that he had unpleasant news. Or that he was heavily hangovered from last night's drinking.

  "Well, well, you look like you just received news that your wife is heading our way."

  Rudnicki's comment made Justinian almost fall off his chair, and Seweryn turned red as a beet. Immediately in anger, he wanted to reach for his weapon, much to the joy of the old nobleman.

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  "Hahaha, my boy. Your father couldn't threaten me, let alone a stripling like you."

  "On my honor, if I don't cut off that loathsome mustache of yours right now, I will..."

  A great commotion quickly arose, in which Justinian had to intervene to calm the situation. Standing between the noblemen, he brought up the first topic that came to mind to ward off the threat of an explosion.

  "Seweryn, did you see anything unusual last night?"

  The devil, although still with a saber in his hand, looked at him suspiciously. It was clear that nothing like that had happened. Unexpectedly, Rudnicki joined the discussion.

  "My dear friend, and what was this henpecked husband supposed to see? Micromegas's frolics in the night sky?"

  Justinian looked at him, forgetting for a moment about restraining Seweryn.

  "You saw it too?"

  Rudnicki laughed, grabbing the clean-shaven nobleman who was just trying to slash him with a saber by the way.

  "Naturally, the illusion formations here do not work on someone of my cultivation. They were not created for that."

  In Seweryn, curiosity momentarily outweighed the desire for warfare, especially since being much weaker than Rudnicki, he couldn't do much to him.

  "What are you talking about?"

  Justinian, separating him from Nikodem again, told about the amazing fight he saw at night. About how someone fought with unimaginable power against Micromegas.

  "Meanwhile, in the morning I didn't see any traces of that terrible energy. Everything functioned just like yesterday."

  Seweryn looked at him concerned, and Nikodem Rudnicki sitting next to him nodded with appreciation.

  "It is evident that the foundation you built is really good. None of the Brothers, apart from me, perceived yesterday's battle."

  "So what happened?"

  The older nobleman looked the young man in the eyes, then leaned back on the wooden chair, settling in comfortably. Then, clearly not caring that the seat was squeaking from his weight, he spread his hands in the air.

  "I cannot say that I know the details, after all, I am not a Voivode..."

  Justinian and Seweryn looked at each other, a flash of disappointment appeared on their faces.

  "...but I happened to hear a certain legend about this dimension."

  Here he paused, as if intentionally wanting to build up tension in anticipation of the rest of the story. Of course, seeing that he was doing it on purpose, both his ward and Mrs. Wachowska's husband rolled their eyes. The old devil, however, did not need to be asked for long and soon said what he knew.

  "Supposedly, the 60th dimension is unique for some reason, and Micromegas has been fighting an unknown, eternal enemy here for a hundred thousand years. The old voivode never loses, but he also doesn't have the power to kill his opponent."

  After washing down the sentence with a mug of quince liqueur, he added, gazing far out the window at the beautiful lake, whose turquoise surface shimmered in the sun rays:

  "It is said that it has something to do with the immense vital force of this planet, but who knows how much truth is in that."

  After this last sentence, silence fell, uninterrupted by even the shortest whisper. Justinian saw from Seweryn's surprised and somewhat subdued expression that this was completely new information for him. He himself also didn't expect to hear something similar.

  'How powerful can someone be whom Micromegas cannot defeat?!'

  He had seen the display of his power three times already, and in his mind, it was something like a boundless ocean that exploded furiously during a storm. What would be able to survive such fury?

  Rudnicki, evidently satisfied with the effect he managed to evoke, soon rose with difficulty from his seat. Then, patting the two younger noblemen on the shoulder, he went upstairs to drink with the Brothers.

  Watching the devil walk away, Justinian realized something else. Septima, sitting a bit further away, listening to the story about yesterday's fight and rumors about the dimension, did not even seem slightly surprised.

  'Did she also see yesterday's battle?'

  A few hours later, Justinian, sweaty after an intensive spar, drove his saber into the ground in front of him.

  "This damn weapon is useless!"

  Just like the previous time, Septima somehow deflected the slash of his saber, Imperfection. For some reason, the energy of the weapon, which had developed a soul, still remained under its control and did not allow for precise attacks.

  A bit further away, the she-devil emerged from the cloud of dust caused by the explosion during the fight. She was much paler than usual, and large drops of sweat flowed quickly down her temples and forehead. Even so, in her cool eyes, usually looking at everything analytically, something unusual could be seen.

  A shadow... of appreciation?

  A moment ago, she won the fight with the young man by a hair. Despite this, there was no boastfulness or mockery on her face now. She looked rather surprised, both by the competence in combat he presented and his current behavior.

  "A bad workman blames his tools."

  Justinian looked at her with a warning gaze, as if showing that despite fatigue he didn't mind another small skirmish. Septima, however, did not take the bait.

  "I am serious. Blaming the defeat on such a good weapon makes no sense."

  "It's easy to praise when you don't know how unbearable to control this piece of junk is."

  The she-devil blinked a few times, but seeing that a correction was not coming, she started looking at Justinian like at an absolute barbarian.

  "You really don't know what this weapon is?"

  The young man was slowly having enough of her unsophisticated mockery. So he tried to explain it one last time without outbursts.

  "I know, I know, steel from a fallen sta..."

  "Your saber has developed within itself a pure soul of the Devilish Virtue of Gluttony. That is why attacks consume more energy and are always stronger than you plan."

  "What?"

  Justinian froze.

  The first thing he could think of was the face of his dead enemy, Belisara, the being made with use of the Devilish Virtue of Gluttony.

  'The saber has crystallized its soul when I killed her back then...'

  While the idea of him having a weapon with soul of those cursed Devilish Virtues, deep down, he felt that the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together.

  "Do with that knowledge what you will."

  Septima did not explain further. She simply straightened her outfit, and headed towards the residence, leaving him alone with this shocking revelation.

  The next two weeks passed in a strange limbo.

  While Justinian spent every day on training and sparing with Septima, the rest of the residence lived in anticipation of the great event.

  The Sarmatians were finally acting like themselves again. It seemed that the "revenge" they were preparing for Ericus was not some bluff they have thrown out while drunk. People outside of their clique had no idea what it was, but many residents were filled with uncertainty over what they may come up with...

  The atmosphere around the lake remained calm during that time. Micromegas did not appear in the sky again, and the mysterious enemy did not reveal its presence. It was the calm before the storm.

  Justinian stood in his room, fastening the last buttons of his elegant noble kontusz he received from Rudnicki many months ago. He looked out the window at the bustling city, which today seemed exceptionally restless, even more so than the first day they arrived in here.

  It was time to start the evening of the banquet.