Capital, the royal palace, which overlooked the entire city, the beating heart of the Jioral Kingdom, was all nervous. Somehow, everything that could go wrong did exactly that. Taxes from the east got stolen, the army’s morale was lowered with the loss of Spellbane and the mysterious rogue Cryleth, who almost single-handedly destroyed the entire company. All were on the edge. Especially…
"And now that goddamn Leonard has disappeared How?" The aggressive yell belonged to a small girl with relatively short pink hair and a terribly bad mood. Norn Clatalissa Jioral was her name. She was Flare’s blood sister and the main investigator of the rogue Hero of Healing's escape.
"Unfortunately, we do not know." The second person in the room answered. A black-muscled man in a dark-green tailcoat. His dark brown hair was cut short, and even so, it curled. The main bodyguard and an attendant for the second princess.
"I know, John." The warlady replied dismissively, as her eyes roamed page after page. She was not a hero like her older sibling, and even with a class, she would never become something more than a simple human being. But the girl was smart, menacingly so. In her thirteen years, she had already led two successful military campaigns. Yet, that barely gave her any love. Commoners rumored about her cruelty, and nobles whispered of her "diluted" heritage. "Daughter of a whore"…
"Your Highness…" The man offered her some tea, yet the girl couldn’t care less. She slouched on her chair and started twirling her exotic hair — the sign of disquiet.
"Gods damn this bitch! She was a moron, and her cursed dog is no better! This’s just driving me mad!" Norn cursed, looking at her retainer. Unlike Leonard, John was of noble blood, although his family lost their county, so he too had to achieve his knight title through sweat and blood. But he was not only strong, but also educated. "Fuck her, and here I thought I’d use her for my infiltration! That slut couldn’t even die without becoming a pain in my ass!"
"Your Highness, the tea…" John made a second attempt, but no, the warlady was too preoccupied with the healer’s escape.
"Keyaru… Keyaru, Keyaru…" Somehow, she had known that name even before he made an appearance in Capital. Congratulations, then. I don’t forget anything. Echoes of the previous world drove her back home. Margurth’s messenger was only a trigger. Never before was the puppeteer of entire armies so immersed in a roughly drawn portrait. "I want him here! I’ll have him…" Having said that, the princess quickly rose to her feet, grabbed a cup, and drank it whole, even with the tea still being hot. Then, she used it to smack John’s temple. The attendant barely shimmered.
"As you wish, my lady." The man nodded, standing on all fours so that Norn would be more comfortable with kicking him.
"Fuck!.." And so she did.
"Ah!" Although the trained bodyguard barely felt her booted foot, his moans, as posed as they were, brought a smile to the girl’s face.
"Why was this bitch kissed by the gods in her fucking ass without them giving her some brain?!" Norn yelled, relentlessly kicking her own warden in the ribs. "And this asshole — I gave him a simple job! A simple notion… BRING KEYARU’S FUCKING PARENTS!!! NOT TWO SHITTY CORPSES!!!DAMN!!!" While screaming, the retainer endured seven more kicks. Quite feeble, and that left the princess exhausted. "Haa… Haa… I should’ve sent you, John, I…" It wasn’t remorse; the warlady had no logical reason for sympathizing with some two unknown villagers, considering she was ready to kill all the others. But even so, they would have much more use in luring out Keyaru, alive.
"Are you better, my lady?" The bodyguard inquired, standing upright.
"Haa… Yes, slightly…" Norn spoke, wiping her sweat. "With a probability of sixty-nine percent, Leonard got himself killed. It’s not a big deal. I can always find someone more competent." The princess deadpanned, crumbling in her chair.
"What will you do with the villagers?" John wondered, glancing at the reports. He did most of the irrelevant paperwork for his young mistress, after all.
"We’ll conduct a public execution in a week to lure out our hero… My prince… When this happens, I want them all poisoned." The warlady insidiously ordered, although without a smile.
"As far as we know, the Hero of Healing could neutralize the toxins." The attendant pointed out. "Judging from Leonard’s testimony, he somehow overcame his pain."
"I know. I wouldn’t mind Keyaru succeeding in that. I just need one strong hand to bring him to me." The girl mused, taking one more look at the draft portrait.
"Do you believe Princess Flare could be truly accompanying him?" The bodyguard wondered. "We have the news that a pink-haired magician has joined the abolishers in Ranalitta, along with Kureha Cryleth. However, it's not completely certain yet."
"I think…" Go, Keyaru! But promise me one thing — if you succeed with your redo, please save my sister. Another echo. These memories of the future that would never come were too fragmented; they wouldn’t make a comprehensive picture, let alone stay in her memories for long, like a dream. Something was fundamentally wrong with Norn, and she knew it. "I won’t deny the possibility, but that bitch is cold and cruel. I just can’t imagine her going as far as releasing the slaves along with a woman she berates behind her back. Unless… Fuck, until we know for sure, I’ll have to pretend to mourn my sister!"
"And yet, only a hero can defeat a hero. This is why I’d suggest dispatching Blade."
"Josephine!" The warlady scornfully said the swordswoman’s real name. Her alias lacked any imagination or creativity. "I could, but before this shit arrives here, it will all be over." Norn hated that lesbian. No skills, no dignity, and traces of broken women, the crown had to hide it all somehow. Either by bribing the victims or simply silencing them in cases where Blade left nothing but a corpse. She even asked for Flare’s hand once, and to be honest, the second princess would gladly toss her sibling to someone who would regularly beat and rape her… If she would bear a child, that is, but that wasn’t the case here. So the worst fencer in the world had to suffice with just mere fantasies.
"I beg your pardon, my lady, but with Bloodbringer’s ability to open portals, that shouldn’t be a problem." John pointed out, as Norn watched the ceiling. The girl was conflicted by the predicament. She hated Flare, her father, this entire kingdom, along with herself. She should be hating Keyaru as well, but she could feel nothing but nauseous admiration for his escape. The person who should have been despised the most shone brightest for the princess. She commanded knights, grunts, mages, and even converted demons. But if she had to choose between them and that red-haired fugitive…
"Fine, then. Then ask for this murderous fanatic when you’ll be delivering the second part of the payment." The princess shook her head. She had only one way of dealing with her predicament, the only way she knew how — through blood and death. "Which you’ll do right now."
…
John Du’Ikr headed through Capital’s streets with nothing but his own bay armored horse. The bodyguard rarely left Norn’s side, but when he did, it was usually to act as an emissary of her will. The princess's retainer traded his tailcoat for a set of full mythril plate armor. And so, nobody would even dare to steal the two white bags filled with gold that his steed carried.
The man rode the wide prospect, paved with marble-like cobblestones. Ahead, there was a great cathedral forty meters tall, with two conical bell towers as its ramparts. The Church of Faran looked like a fortress, even the broad stained glass windows were anything but brittle. As the horseman approached, a young acolyte offered to take his steed to the stables. John accepted the offer, but even through a closed helmet, his sharp eye couldn’t miss two sharp cinquedeas under the youngster’s brown robes.
Faran’s priests preached the supremacy of the human race, so there was nothing unusual for the interior to be covered in murals, dedicated to heroes’ labors and remarkable deeds. A single look at the high ceiling could make one giddy for a moment, but afterward, a revelation would strike the believer — a fresco of Yunar the First Hero. A bald man in chain mail stood with his arms spread, a firestorm following his step. With no benches, believers had to stand on their feet. Although now it was not time for a sermon, some of the flock still came there to pray to their god.
Tch, as if Faran has nothing to do but to wipe your asses, John wasn’t among the believers, and yet, he dared not to say it out loud. The premise reeked with labdanum. Two demi-human slaves waved censers, filling the air with suffocating incense.
"I’m glad to see you in Faran’s adobe, my child." Suddenly, someone placed their hand on John’s shoulder. And the latter felt this warm touch somehow, even through his armor. The messenger winced and quickly turned back to see a tan man in green robes.
"Archbishop Keziaz?" Norn’s attendant quickly recognized the perpetrator. Some said Faran’s priest made the best assassins. Well, they were right, but not to spread unnecessary rumors. "My mistress sent me to pay you a tribute."
"So I see." With but a single clap, the preacher summoned his other slaves, a man and a pregnant woman, who both had sable ears. "Take it to my vault, Haim. And don’t drop it, unless you want Efa to bear your punishment."
John wasn’t a fool. He saw bruises and depression in the eyes of the couple, making it obvious just how much they were abused.
"Do you pity them?" The dignitary wondered, making his way to his chambers. Norn’s retainer followed.
"No." The mythril-clad replied. "As sad as they may look, these are just lower beings." John Du’Ikr had seen enough of both human and inhuman cruelty. He didn’t believe in higher and lower races, and these words were meant only for Keziaz’s and his numerous acolytes, roaming in the shadows. In terms of slavery, the black-skinned messenger saw almost no difference between Jioral and the tribes. "We’re just much more powerful."
"Amusing." The Archbishop sneered, descending the gilded staircase. "Only a true slave can vocalize such things. You must really love your princess to say such things."
"I’m merely an instrument of her ambitions." John proudly stated. All that time, he didn’t even try to take off his helmet, fearing a treacherous dagger.
"You are. A toy that leans at command just to get beaten and disgraced. A fitting pair for the second princess." The priest turned back to smirk at the emissary’s armored face. Behind the metal, he saw a gathering rage. Yet, for the sake of his lady, the man swallowed the insult. "Good boy." The next few minutes were filled with a viscous silence. After the staircase, a corridor filled with crimson lamps followed, like a gut filled with countless unseen eyes. So much blood was spilled here that no amount of detergents or magic could wash away the stench of death. John anxiously followed the clergyman, ready to unsheathe his sword at any moment, yet the opportunity never presented itself. It was the first time the retainer actually visited that monastery, as the previous transactions came through Jioral’s usurers.
Finally, they arrived. Keziaz opened the silvered door to his monastic cell. Or, rather, it was a chamber worthy of a king, a giant underground room with a massive blue bed, an entire library, and a long dinner table in the middle that caught John’s eye. The leader of Faran’s cult didn’t even try to hide two bloody collars near the azure lodge.
"I see you have questions for me, my child." The high priest mused, sitting on his soft chair akin to a throne. "With Norn’s donation accepted, I see no reason to deny you this right."
"Allow me to express my gratitude, Your Holiness, yet I arrived seeking someone." The man shrugged, revealing his black face. He was no older than twenty-five, but his brown eyes were already stained by the cruelty of this world. "I came to ask for Bloodbringer. He may be a Champion, but this person is outside of Jioral’s chain of command. You are the only one we can ask, Archbishop Keziaz." John spoke with theatrical reverence, trying to see behind the grinning veil, but the preacher’s face never betrayed any emotion.
"First, my child from the southern continent, there is no "he". Only Catherine, a free soul, who travels this blessed world. She may do wonders, but only when she is willing to." The archbishop casually revealed the true identity of Jioral’s most elusive warrior. And yet, John didn’t even blink at the revelation.
"There are no wonders, father. Everything has its price. Money, mana… blood of the innocent." The princess’ bodyguard pointed out dismissively.
"What is worth in the blood of undignified furries in the face of a true divine power?" Keziaz pondered, rubbing his chin. "Blood magic may be a stumbling stone for many, but not for true believers! Your lady is no exception. Princess Norn may secretly deny our ways, but she acknowledges the power of our god."
"Hmm." John stumbled. The second princess’ dream was to reform that kingdom, and she could only do so by accumulating influence, but only a handful people knew of her true ambitions. And for the latter, he needed Blade in Capital as fast as he could, and somebody had to die for that to happen. Truth be told, the bodyguard didn’t care, but having to rely on such an unrestricted group as the Church of Faran made him shiver.
"But, since Faran’s beloved wife is recently unavailable, I am considering changing the topic of our conversation. Tell me, my child, have you ever felt echoes? Déjà vu? Distant memories of the future? Your… death?" Keziaz menacingly asked, making the standing man even more cautious. Bloodbringer… Catherine is Faran’s wife?
"Memories? Maybe…" John lied. Although he heard of a few such men, he could confirm it only with one pink-haired girl. "Do you know something, Your Holiness?"
"Something? I witnessed it whole. Years that vanished in a single flash of light. The dead, risen back to life. And even…" Archbishop cruelly smirked. "…the demise of Faran."
"Careful, Your Holiness." Now it was the dark-skinned attendant who poked into a breach in the dignitary’s defense. It wasn’t a conversation, but rather a verbal duel. "Your words may be considered heretical."
"No." Keziaz slowly shook his head. "Surely, you must have heard this proverb: "Quod licet Iovi, non licet bovi".
"Gods are permitted what cattle are not. What makes you think you’re not the latter?" The mythril-clad parried, leaning on the table.
"Do not overstep your boundaries, slave of the princess." With his index finger, the priest threatened. Somehow, John had spotted a snake under the robes. "We are not equal. Your allegiance can only preserve you so far."
"Aren’t we? Shouldn’t we all be Faran’s flock?" With Bloodbringer out of his reach, all that is left for the retainer is the discussion. And he seemed quite good at it. Until the mask was broken.
"Faran is but a fool! More than a man, less than a god, yet neither! A natural force, who hates his own religion even more, than those impudent equalizers who follow him!" Archbishop revealed yet another truth. His words thundered with awe and arrogance. It was too much for John to comprehend. "Do not give me that look. The only reason our church still exists is because we have been displacing all the other cults without praying to any true god. And even if we do… Faran is too preoccupied with defying the very order of this world!"
"You… What… is this blasphemy?" Norn’s attendant was stupored, overwhelmed by divine revelations. "You… are a heretic! A heretic leading Faran’s church!"
"I am not. Yet you shall become one if you share the truth, my child!" The preacher gloated, as his eyes became vertical for a moment. Am I seeing things? "All you need to put together a puzzle of echos is Faran’s and Keyaru’s true identities, which I…" Keziaz’s smile reached his ears. "…will not reveal you! Growl in your ignorance, child"
"W-what are you?!" John asked, unsheathing his bastard sword. Just to feel the cold kiss of steel on his neck. An unseen assassin was ready to murder him anytime.
"I am the church, its true face, unhindered by Enrico’s fragile influence." The archbishop spoke, mentioning Enrico Dualey, the Holy Emperor of Scodilian Theocracy. If he’s so dismissive about him, then this one is dangerous. Along with his cutthroats… "You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a pathetic beating-bag, a slave to the whore’s spawn, a blind girl, destined to bring nothing but pain to the man she admires so much. We may have excommunicated Alban, but that was her will that made it possible! The Hero of Healing is yet to meet her, and their reunion shall not be pleasant!”
“Why telling me this? If you want me dead, than let’s get to it!” And so, John smashed acolyte’s nose with a back of his head before tossing his on the ground. Now it was an assassin, who had a blade near his face, trembling in fear, as the armored retainer picked up his knife.
“That will not be necessary.” With a wave of his hand, the archbishop dispatched his murderers, veiled in shadows themselves. Even that robed man under John’s legs just disappeared. All of them left the room all at once. “You have amused me, so let me tell you this: the evil is hiding right under your noses, and you failed to spot it. Now someone has to deal with it, and mayhaps, it might even be your mistress.” Keziaz spoke with a warm and cheerful smile. His eyes, though, remained cold as ice. “Farewell, and pass our gratitude for Norn’s contribution.”
And so John left, with more questions than answers and even more fears. He felt like a mindless pawn, unaware of the numerous divine interventions and conflicts that shaped this world, one of which could be the reason for Norn’s inexplicable worries. But the attendant was much more preoccupied with that “evil”. It felt like even the almighty clergyman feared that inscrutable darkness so much, that he wouldn’t name it. Still, to put his hopes on Her Highness?.. Or, maybe, he was just being cryptic? Maybe… Oh no, her very fate leads her right in the hands of the Hero of Healing!
Capital, the royal palace, which overlooked the entire city, the beating heart of the Jioral Kingdom, was all nervous. Somehow, everything that could go wrong did exactly that. Taxes from the east got stolen, the army’s morale was lowered with the loss of Spellbane and the mysterious rogue Cryleth, who almost single-handedly destroyed the entire company. All were on the edge. Especially…
"And now that goddamn Leonard has disappeared How?" The aggressive yell belonged to a small girl with relatively short pink hair and a terribly bad mood. Norn Clatalissa Jioral was her name. She was Flare’s blood sister and the main investigator of the rogue Hero of Healing's escape.
"Unfortunately, we do not know." The second person in the room answered. A black-muscled man in a dark-green tailcoat. His dark brown hair was cut short, and even so, it curled. The main bodyguard and an attendant for the second princess.
"I know, John." The warlady replied dismissively, as her eyes roamed page after page. She was not a hero like her older sibling, and even with a class, she would never become something more than a simple human being. But the girl was smart, menacingly so. In her thirteen years, she had already led two successful military campaigns. Yet, that barely gave her any love. Commoners rumored about her cruelty, and nobles whispered of her "diluted" heritage. "Daughter of a whore"…
"Your Highness…" The man offered her some tea, yet the girl couldn’t care less. She slouched on her chair and started twirling her exotic hair — the sign of disquiet.
"Gods damn this bitch! She was a moron, and her cursed dog is no better! This’s just driving me mad!" Norn cursed, looking at her retainer. Unlike Leonard, John was of noble blood, although his family lost their county, so he too had to achieve his knight title through sweat and blood. But he was not only strong, but also educated. "Fuck her, and here I thought I’d use her for my infiltration! That slut couldn’t even die without becoming a pain in my ass!"
"Your Highness, the tea…" John made a second attempt, but no, the warlady was too preoccupied with the healer’s escape.
"Keyaru… Keyaru, Keyaru…" Somehow, she had known that name even before he made an appearance in Capital. Congratulations, then. I don’t forget anything. Echoes of the previous world drove her back home. Margurth’s messenger was only a trigger. Never before was the puppeteer of entire armies so immersed in a roughly drawn portrait. "I want him here! I’ll have him…" Having said that, the princess quickly rose to her feet, grabbed a cup, and drank it whole, even with the tea still being hot. Then, she used it to smack John’s temple. The attendant barely shimmered.
"As you wish, my lady." The man nodded, standing on all fours so that Norn would be more comfortable with kicking him.
"Fuck!.." And so she did.
"Ah!" Although the trained bodyguard barely felt her booted foot, his moans, as posed as they were, brought a smile to the girl’s face.
"Why was this bitch kissed by the gods in her fucking ass without them giving her some brain?!" Norn yelled, relentlessly kicking her own warden in the ribs. "And this asshole — I gave him a simple job! A simple notion… BRING KEYARU’S FUCKING PARENTS!!! NOT TWO SHITTY CORPSES!!!DAMN!!!" While screaming, the retainer endured seven more kicks. Quite feeble, and that left the princess exhausted. "Haa… Haa… I should’ve sent you, John, I…" It wasn’t remorse; the warlady had no logical reason for sympathizing with some two unknown villagers, considering she was ready to kill all the others. But even so, they would have much more use in luring out Keyaru, alive.
"Are you better, my lady?" The bodyguard inquired, standing upright.
"Haa… Yes, slightly…" Norn spoke, wiping her sweat. "With a probability of sixty-nine percent, Leonard got himself killed. It’s not a big deal. I can always find someone more competent." The princess deadpanned, crumbling in her chair.
"What will you do with the villagers?" John wondered, glancing at the reports. He did most of the irrelevant paperwork for his young mistress, after all.
"We’ll conduct a public execution in a week to lure out our hero… My prince… When this happens, I want them all poisoned." The warlady insidiously ordered, although without a smile.
"As far as we know, the Hero of Healing could neutralize the toxins." The attendant pointed out. "Judging from Leonard’s testimony, he somehow overcame his pain."
"I know. I wouldn’t mind Keyaru succeeding in that. I just need one strong hand to bring him to me." The girl mused, taking one more look at the draft portrait.
"Do you believe Princess Flare could be truly accompanying him?" The bodyguard wondered. "We have the news that a pink-haired magician has joined the abolishers in Ranalitta, along with Kureha Cryleth. However, it's not completely certain yet."
"I think…" Go, Keyaru! But promise me one thing — if you succeed with your redo, please save my sister. Another echo. These memories of the future that would never come were too fragmented; they wouldn’t make a comprehensive picture, let alone stay in her memories for long, like a dream. Something was fundamentally wrong with Norn, and she knew it. "I won’t deny the possibility, but that bitch is cold and cruel. I just can’t imagine her going as far as releasing the slaves along with a woman she berates behind her back. Unless… Fuck, until we know for sure, I’ll have to pretend to mourn my sister!"
"And yet, only a hero can defeat a hero. This is why I’d suggest dispatching Blade."
"Josephine!" The warlady scornfully said the swordswoman’s real name. Her alias lacked any imagination or creativity. "I could, but before this shit arrives here, it will all be over." Norn hated that lesbian. No skills, no dignity, and traces of broken women, the crown had to hide it all somehow. Either by bribing the victims or simply silencing them in cases where Blade left nothing but a corpse. She even asked for Flare’s hand once, and to be honest, the second princess would gladly toss her sibling to someone who would regularly beat and rape her… If she would bear a child, that is, but that wasn’t the case here. So the worst fencer in the world had to suffice with just mere fantasies.
"I beg your pardon, my lady, but with Bloodbringer’s ability to open portals, that shouldn’t be a problem." John pointed out, as Norn watched the ceiling. The girl was conflicted by the predicament. She hated Flare, her father, this entire kingdom, along with herself. She should be hating Keyaru as well, but she could feel nothing but nauseous admiration for his escape. The person who should have been despised the most shone brightest for the princess. She commanded knights, grunts, mages, and even converted demons. But if she had to choose between them and that red-haired fugitive…
"Fine, then. Then ask for this murderous fanatic when you’ll be delivering the second part of the payment." The princess shook her head. She had only one way of dealing with her predicament, the only way she knew how — through blood and death. "Which you’ll do right now."
…
John Du’Ikr headed through Capital’s streets with nothing but his own bay armored horse. The bodyguard rarely left Norn’s side, but when he did, it was usually to act as an emissary of her will. The princess's retainer traded his tailcoat for a set of full mythril plate armor. And so, nobody would even dare to steal the two white bags filled with gold that his steed carried.
The man rode the wide prospect, paved with marble-like cobblestones. Ahead, there was a great cathedral forty meters tall, with two conical bell towers as its ramparts. The Church of Faran looked like a fortress, even the broad stained glass windows were anything but brittle. As the horseman approached, a young acolyte offered to take his steed to the stables. John accepted the offer, but even through a closed helmet, his sharp eye couldn’t miss two sharp cinquedeas under the youngster’s brown robes.
Faran’s priests preached the supremacy of the human race, so there was nothing unusual for the interior to be covered in murals, dedicated to heroes’ labors and remarkable deeds. A single look at the high ceiling could make one giddy for a moment, but afterward, a revelation would strike the believer — a fresco of Yunar the First Hero. A bald man in chain mail stood with his arms spread, a firestorm following his step. With no benches, believers had to stand on their feet. Although now it was not time for a sermon, some of the flock still came there to pray to their god.
Tch, as if Faran has nothing to do but to wipe your asses, John wasn’t among the believers, and yet, he dared not to say it out loud. The premise reeked with labdanum. Two demi-human slaves waved censers, filling the air with suffocating incense.
"I’m glad to see you in Faran’s adobe, my child." Suddenly, someone placed their hand on John’s shoulder. And the latter felt this warm touch somehow, even through his armor. The messenger winced and quickly turned back to see a tan man in green robes.
"Archbishop Keziaz?" Norn’s attendant quickly recognized the perpetrator. Some said Faran’s priest made the best assassins. Well, they were right, but not to spread unnecessary rumors. "My mistress sent me to pay you a tribute."
"So I see." With but a single clap, the preacher summoned his other slaves, a man and a pregnant woman, who both had sable ears. "Take it to my vault, Haim. And don’t drop it, unless you want Efa to bear your punishment."
John wasn’t a fool. He saw bruises and depression in the eyes of the couple, making it obvious just how much they were abused.
"Do you pity them?" The dignitary wondered, making his way to his chambers. Norn’s retainer followed.
"No." The mythril-clad replied. "As sad as they may look, these are just lower beings." John Du’Ikr had seen enough of both human and inhuman cruelty. He didn’t believe in higher and lower races, and these words were meant only for Keziaz’s and his numerous acolytes, roaming in the shadows. In terms of slavery, the black-skinned messenger saw almost no difference between Jioral and the tribes. "We’re just much more powerful."
"Amusing." The Archbishop sneered, descending the gilded staircase. "Only a true slave can vocalize such things. You must really love your princess to say such things."
"I’m merely an instrument of her ambitions." John proudly stated. All that time, he didn’t even try to take off his helmet, fearing a treacherous dagger.
"You are. A toy that leans at command just to get beaten and disgraced. A fitting pair for the second princess." The priest turned back to smirk at the emissary’s armored face. Behind the metal, he saw a gathering rage. Yet, for the sake of his lady, the man swallowed the insult. "Good boy." The next few minutes were filled with a viscous silence. After the staircase, a corridor filled with crimson lamps followed, like a gut filled with countless unseen eyes. So much blood was spilled here that no amount of detergents or magic could wash away the stench of death. John anxiously followed the clergyman, ready to unsheathe his sword at any moment, yet the opportunity never presented itself. It was the first time the retainer actually visited that monastery, as the previous transactions came through Jioral’s usurers.
Finally, they arrived. Keziaz opened the silvered door to his monastic cell. Or, rather, it was a chamber worthy of a king, a giant underground room with a massive blue bed, an entire library, and a long dinner table in the middle that caught John’s eye. The leader of Faran’s cult didn’t even try to hide two bloody collars near the azure lodge.
"I see you have questions for me, my child." The high priest mused, sitting on his soft chair akin to a throne. "With Norn’s donation accepted, I see no reason to deny you this right."
"Allow me to express my gratitude, Your Holiness, yet I arrived seeking someone." The man shrugged, revealing his black face. He was no older than twenty-five, but his brown eyes were already stained by the cruelty of this world. "I came to ask for Bloodbringer. He may be a Champion, but this person is outside of Jioral’s chain of command. You are the only one we can ask, Archbishop Keziaz." John spoke with theatrical reverence, trying to see behind the grinning veil, but the preacher’s face never betrayed any emotion.
"First, my child from the southern continent, there is no "he". Only Catherine, a free soul, who travels this blessed world. She may do wonders, but only when she is willing to." The archbishop casually revealed the true identity of Jioral’s most elusive warrior. And yet, John didn’t even blink at the revelation.
"There are no wonders, father. Everything has its price. Money, mana… blood of the innocent." The princess’ bodyguard pointed out dismissively.
"What is worth in the blood of undignified furries in the face of a true divine power?" Keziaz pondered, rubbing his chin. "Blood magic may be a stumbling stone for many, but not for true believers! Your lady is no exception. Princess Norn may secretly deny our ways, but she acknowledges the power of our god."
"Hmm." John stumbled. The second princess’ dream was to reform that kingdom, and she could only do so by accumulating influence, but only a handful people knew of her true ambitions. And for the latter, he needed Blade in Capital as fast as he could, and somebody had to die for that to happen. Truth be told, the bodyguard didn’t care, but having to rely on such an unrestricted group as the Church of Faran made him shiver.
"But, since Faran’s beloved wife is recently unavailable, I am considering changing the topic of our conversation. Tell me, my child, have you ever felt echoes? Déjà vu? Distant memories of the future? Your… death?" Keziaz menacingly asked, making the standing man even more cautious. Bloodbringer… Catherine is Faran’s wife?
"Memories? Maybe…" John lied. Although he heard of a few such men, he could confirm it only with one pink-haired girl. "Do you know something, Your Holiness?"
"Something? I witnessed it whole. Years that vanished in a single flash of light. The dead, risen back to life. And even…" Archbishop cruelly smirked. "…the demise of Faran."
"Careful, Your Holiness." Now it was the dark-skinned attendant who poked into a breach in the dignitary’s defense. It wasn’t a conversation, but rather a verbal duel. "Your words may be considered heretical."
"No." Keziaz slowly shook his head. "Surely, you must have heard this proverb: "Quod licet Iovi, non licet bovi".
"Gods are permitted what cattle are not. What makes you think you’re not the latter?" The mythril-clad parried, leaning on the table.
"Do not overstep your boundaries, slave of the princess." With his index finger, the priest threatened. Somehow, John had spotted a snake under the robes. "We are not equal. Your allegiance can only preserve you so far."
"Aren’t we? Shouldn’t we all be Faran’s flock?" With Bloodbringer out of his reach, all that is left for the retainer is the discussion. And he seemed quite good at it. Until the mask was broken.
"Faran is but a fool! More than a man, less than a god, yet neither! A natural force, who hates his own religion even more, than those impudent equalizers who follow him!" Archbishop revealed yet another truth. His words thundered with awe and arrogance. It was too much for John to comprehend. "Do not give me that look. The only reason our church still exists is because we have been displacing all the other cults without praying to any true god. And even if we do… Faran is too preoccupied with defying the very order of this world!"
"You… What… is this blasphemy?" Norn’s attendant was stupored, overwhelmed by divine revelations. "You… are a heretic! A heretic leading Faran’s church!"
"I am not. Yet you shall become one if you share the truth, my child!" The preacher gloated, as his eyes became vertical for a moment. Am I seeing things? "All you need to put together a puzzle of echos is Faran’s and Keyaru’s true identities, which I…" Keziaz’s smile reached his ears. "…will not reveal you! Growl in your ignorance, child"
"W-what are you?!" John asked, unsheathing his bastard sword. Just to feel the cold kiss of steel on his neck. An unseen assassin was ready to murder him anytime.
"I am the church, its true face, unhindered by Enrico’s fragile influence." The archbishop spoke, mentioning Enrico Dualey, the Holy Emperor of Scodilian Theocracy. If he’s so dismissive about him, then this one is dangerous. Along with his cutthroats… "You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a pathetic beating-bag, a slave to the whore’s spawn, a blind girl, destined to bring nothing but pain to the man she admires so much. We may have excommunicated Alban, but that was her will that made it possible! The Hero of Healing is yet to meet her, and their reunion shall not be pleasant!”
“Why telling me this? If you want me dead, than let’s get to it!” And so, John smashed acolyte’s nose with a back of his head before tossing his on the ground. Now it was an assassin, who had a blade near his face, trembling in fear, as the armored retainer picked up his knife.
“That will not be necessary.” With a wave of his hand, the archbishop dispatched his murderers, veiled in shadows themselves. Even that robed man under John’s legs just disappeared. All of them left the room all at once. “You have amused me, so let me tell you this: the evil is hiding right under your noses, and you failed to spot it. Now someone has to deal with it, and mayhaps, it might even be your mistress.” Keziaz spoke with a warm and cheerful smile. His eyes, though, remained cold as ice. “Farewell, and pass our gratitude for Norn’s contribution.”
And so John left, with more questions than answers and even more fears. He felt like a mindless pawn, unaware of the numerous divine interventions and conflicts that shaped this world, one of which could be the reason for Norn’s inexplicable worries. But the attendant was much more preoccupied with that “evil”. It felt like even the almighty clergyman feared that inscrutable darkness so much, that he wouldn’t name it. Still, to put his hopes on Her Highness?.. Or, maybe, he was just being cryptic? Maybe… Oh no, her very fate leads her right in the hands of the Hero of Healing!
