Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 69: The Bishop

“That door’s not for knocking, you fools. Enter! Enter right this instant for Blessed Father’s sake, and close the damn thing after you!” Bishop Cornelius boomed from beyond the door the second Edric made the grave sin of disturbing the man’s peace.

He’s not in a good mood. He’s never in a good mood. novelbuddy.cσ๓

Edric took a deep breath as he clasped the knob of the door and heard the groaning of heavy stone like the distant wailing of Hollows stabbing at his ears. A single push, then it would swing wide open, revealing the monster hiding inside. The inner flame stirred ever so slightly in his chest, but even that fire was quenched before it could spread a much-needed calm across his thoughts.

His golden plates felt weightless for a second—the shoulder plates and the chest piece, the leggings and the boots, the helmet tucked neatly under his armpit. Gone was the relieving weight of the Magical Artifact, and in its stead was now the thumping of his heart growing louder by the second.

He glanced at the group waiting behind him, looking at him as if he had all the answers in his mind. Not the lawyer, though, and certainly not the Healer, who seemed a lot like the time when he spat senselessly the notions of his heretic mind right after they’d taken him to the carriage.

Who would do that? Who in his sane mind would thrash and jest about religion when he has a group of Templars breathing down his neck? Who would be so foolish as to believe he has all the answers?

Perhaps he should’ve let Dain take Valens with him, too. Lenora could’ve given him a point or two about the Bishop. Or, in a more likely scenario, that spiteful woman would’ve further stoked the embers of doubt burning in the Healer’s heart. Would’ve likely encouraged him to speak his mind, too—to tell the Bishop that he was indeed a heretic and was here for another round to finish up the deed Baht couldn’t have managed to complete some years before.

It’s too late to think about these things.

“Enter, you lightless, brainless, rot-smelling, foul-reeking fool! I don’t have all the time in the world for your nonsense! I have a city of thousands to care for and an endless number of bastards seeking deals with the shadows. The. Shadows!”

“He’s having one of those episodes,” Garran came up behind him, patting a trembling hand on his shoulder plate. “I’d say we send the lawyer first. Let him take the brunt of it.”

Edric considered for a second whether the idea had any merit, but decided against it since he had no clue as to what this lawyer was capable of. That was the deal with Guild lawyers. You never knew from which angle they would take a jab at a case.

“No need,” Edric said, steeling his mind. He was a captain of the Golden Ward and a Templar with years of experience under his belt. He’d been to the Broken Lands for more raids than he could remember and recruited by the Bishop himself when his talents had been seen fit for the complicated work rather than the simple act of hacking the dwellers.

I miss that life. Nothing to think about, nothing to wrap your mind around. Just the crowds of monsters and shadows, with you and a sword in hand, hacking them clean for days, and months, and years, not looking back for a second. Such simple work, and I’d slapped it away with my own hand.

Edric shook his head. It was too late to think about any of that now. Too late, indeed.

You have to learn to cherish the little things, he reminded himself as he finally pushed the door open.

A stick came flying the moment the stone doors revealed the interior of the room. Edric ducked away and stretched a hand out, caught the wooden stick in the palm of his hand, crushed it hard, and let the bits sprinkle down from between his fingers.

“Hah!” Bishop Cornelius bellowed from behind his mighty desk, crowded with dozens of hard-leather books, registers, and a fancy-looking quill whose tip had already started scrabbling away at an empty paper. “Edric!” he followed his initial burst of fury with a second one, pointing a wrinkled finger at his face. “You’re late.”

“There has been a set of complications—“

“Always the complications! Always the shadows messing up our work, but we have learned better, have we not?” the Bishop said, face grimaced into a sharp scowl that made his green eyes look like slits of a rather old viper. “We have learned to keep to a tight schedule, knowing that even a tiny slip on our end might result in a street full of dead people—and worse, people who got allured into believing that Belgrave is such a good place to stir up some trouble!”

“My apologies—“

“I don’t need your apology. I need your arms, your legs, your head, but mostly, your sword waiting at the ready!” The Bishop swept his spotty pate with a furious hand, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Where is your sword? Where is your team? Do you know what happened while your lot was out traveling from one pointless town to another?”

“We have not—“

“Of course you haven’t! I’m cursed with the lot of you, a bunch of fools muscled in the wrong places and brained in even wronger parts!”

Wronger? Is that even a word?

“You will answer to me! You will pay the price of your negligence! You will tell me how in the Blessed Father’s name a thief managed to worm his way into the Warden’s Library!” The Bishop’s pale face seemed like the tip of a volcano about to pop off, redder than Edric had ever seen before.

“A thief?” Edric croaked with difficulty. It took some time for the weight of that last sentence to settle. “A thief?!” he repeated, his voice pitched high. “Into the Warden’s Library?”

“Not just a thief curious to see about the design of the most ancient library in the world, but a friend of the Shadow who set fire to our collection of ancient books and even stole two of them!” Bishop Cornelius moved briskly around the desk, the tails of his golden cassock billowing in his wake as though an invisible gale picked them up to match the grandeur of his position.

“And where were you, captain? Out for some sightseeing after you’ve dealt with the Contess, I suppose, with your team in tow. And looks like you have other… company with you. Who are these people?” the Bishop narrowed his eyes at the group sulking behind Edric, most of them trying to fit behind his back as if they couldn’t bear to look at the Bishop’s face.

I don’t blame them.

“That was the matter I’ve been trying to inform you about, Bishop,” Edric said, forcing the words out of his mouth. If it’d been just the anger of an old, grumpy man, then Edric could’ve shrugged it off without much effort. But when that anger belonged to a Dawnkeeper, then it came with an air about it.

A Dawnkeeper suffering from mind rot, but still a man who’s managed to pass his Third Trial. I can barely breathe.

“Speak, and make it quick.” The Bishop swept the group with a hasty glance before taking to his desk. Back turned, he kept an ear on Edric while his eyes remained focused on the quill scrabbling away at that paper.

The Warden’s Quill. It’s recording Valens’s status…

Taking another breath in, Edric almost saluted him but decided giving a quick summary about the recent events would be a touch more sensible, considering the Bishop cared not for meaningless gestures.

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“We have come across a Rift…” Edric started and told him everything right as they were. No use in lying in the face of a Dawnkeeper. The Bishop would know, and his knowing about the lying wouldn’t be the end of it. He would make sure the other party would know that he knew of them knowing it too, but not before he broke a few bones. “We had enough clues to suspect that there might be a relation between this Duality Guild and the Healer, and thus, I have decided to bring him to the cathedral to be further questioned by you, Radiant Father.”

“Enough clues, but not a single proof,” Sarek spoke stately right after Edric finished his recounting. The lawyer stepped out into the middle of the room and stood there like a mighty pole by Edric, not in the least bothered by the fact that he was facing the famed Bishop Cornelius in person. “If we start hanging people and breaking companies on account of heresy or anything that could be subject to doubt without solid proof, then we might as well burn the whole Church, considering all the rumors about the deeds you’ve been carrying on under these very tiles upon which we stand, Bishop.”

“Who are you?” Bishop Cornelius said. He tapped a finger to the magical quill, as if impatient, before he turned to face the lawyer. “What business do you have in God’s house? We’re not in a court. You are sorely mistaken if you think you can have your way here.”

The air grew heavier, and there was a smell to it now. A sharp reek of something burning while the lawyer took out some papers from his chest, unfolded them neatly before presenting them to the Bishop.

“Here are the formal permits the Duality Guild has gotten weeks prior. You can see the names of each member signed there and their classes, which are registered as law dictates with the Department of Class Regulations. The second document,” Sarek said, his voice remaining straight, “has the signs of the Prime Minister, Lord Chancellor, and His Majesty King Edmund. You will find that none of these official documents has the name of this Healer, nor is there any proof that the Duality Guild has sought any help other than the Priests of the Sun’s Church for this particular Rift.”

The Bishop’s face creased when he checked the documents one by one while Edric cursed the lawyer for intervening with his work here. He had no intention to throw Valens into the logs and watch him burn. For Blessed Father’s sake, he was trying to recruit the man to his own team, but to do that, he had to first let the Bishop know about the whole matter.

You’re trying to save your ass, is that it?

“And this Healer,” Sarek continued when it looked like the Bishop wouldn’t be speaking soon, “this God-sent saint, I’ve been told, has helped the wounded men of the Duality Guild on his own accord, without ever demanding pay or any compensation for his valuable efforts. Over a hundred men would’ve died there if not for him.”

“Is this true?” the Bishop glanced at Edric.

Edric nodded. “It is. We’ve seen it with our own eyes.”

“What of that woman, then?” The Bishop raised a finger toward Selin, the woman flinching against his gaze, and silently demanded that she come forth. When she hesitated, Garran pushed her lightly from behind. “The Wailborn, was she? The one I’ve sent you up to catch?”

“Indeed,” Edric said. “A last-stage Wailborn. She’d been close to turning when we caught her in the Countess Margaret’s mansion.”

“Then?” the Bishop demanded. “Why is she standing here, looking all too normal? Surely the shadow hasn’t decided to spare her out of compassion, has it?”

Edric gestured with his hand for Valens to come close. He did as he was told with eyes squinted as though there was something in this hall that only he could see. “The Healer fixed her. Scorched the shadow out of her veins and stitched her back before the flames could claim her life. It was the first time I’ve ever seen such a thing.”

“Mas, is this true?” The Bishop waved him off and instead focused on Mas, who stood silently. “Did this man truly save this young woman?”

“He’s not just a Healer, Radiant Father,” Mas spat right away. “He can use Inferno. He can command the ground just as well. I’ve seen him do dark things. He wasn’t affected when he touched that Wailborn, and he carved people wide open on that hill. Cut them into pieces before stitching them back together. He doesn’t believe in God, either. A damned heretic, this one, deserves to be hanged and hanged before all eyes to see!”

“Hanged, you say?” The Bishop propped a hand under his chin as if thinking about it. “A heretic, you mean? Dark things, you’ve mentioned?”

“Yes, Radiant Father,” Mas answered dutifully.

As usual, the dog barks and yips and waits, ever so obedient, for its Master’s approval.

“A Healer in Melton,” the Bishop nodded and raised a finger to Valens. “Not just a normal Healer either, but a special class. Speak, heretic. What is it that you seek here? For what purpose have you decided to defile our kingdom with your existence?”

Valens visibly stiffened at his words and turned to the Bishop rather than whatever he’d been staring at from the moment they entered the room.

“Are you of Baht’s cult?” the Bishop continued as he took a step toward him, his cassock gleaming with lights. “Perhaps a pawn of that traitor, here to collect information, still refusing to take any lessons from your miserable history? Or is it because you’ve caught a whiff of the news that the rule has changed in Melton, that the new King holds dear not the virtues of our Blessed Father but those of the material world? That he’s a man of coin, of business and trade, of gains so far apart from our true values that the Church has become a mere memory of its glorious past? Perhaps then you thought, in the hole you’ve hidden yourselves, that another chance has risen for your lot?”

Edric’s heart thumped in his chest as he prayed that Valens would keep his silence against these nonsensical accusations. It was nothing other than a probe, a way for the Bishop to find a crack that he could use to break open this matter. Being a heretic or a Healer, or a heretic Healer, wasn’t enough to send a man to the gallows. Acting suspicious, though, was something the Bishop so vehemently disliked.

“I don’t know him,” Valens said.

Perfectly calm, disturbingly unaffected.

“What?” the Bishop blinked at him.

“This Baht guy,” Valens said. “I don’t know anything about him or have any relations with his cult. And I sincerely think the name ‘Healer’ is the only thing we share in common with that man.”

“Nonsense!” the Bishop frowned at Valens's calm face. “You have broken the treaty. You have meddled with the efforts of the Sun’s Church and taken matters into your own hands without any permit. Even if you have nothing to do with that traitor, these alone are enough to get you a long sentence!”

“I believe the judges will decide on that, not you, dear Bishop,” Sarek smiled from the side, a stupid smile looking for a beating. “As you’ve said, the times are changing, and the Church is not absolute anymore.”

You shouldn’t have said that… You’re not as clever as you think, lawyer! And where is that damn woman when you need her? Where is—

Golden lights burst into existence. Dozens of them, sharp enough that even Edric had to close his eyes for a second. The inner flame yelped in his chest, trembling like a scared child, burrowing deeper into his heart to find a place to hide. Everything around the room grew heavy as if the very air was pressing upon his shoulders.

“The times might be changing, little lawyer,” the Bishop said, his cassock alive with golden lights, his eyes sharper than magical artifacts. “Yet there are things that burn before judgment falls. Do you wish to test me, the keeper of this city, with your fickle presence and clever words?”

“No!” Edric said. “He does not. This matter has nothing to do with the Duality Guild, Bishop. We—“

“I have heard enough!” Bishop Cornelius growled, his wrinkled face twisting further in burning fury. “I will not tolerate this foul existence in my kingdom. Mas, take him! Have the disciples put him in the cells to be further questioned until we see the end of this matter!”

“With pleasure, Radiant Father.” Mas smiled wickedly, like a beast finally about to get its prize after taking its precious time. He moved proudly, widely, chin held high, eyes painfully bright, fingers already tightening in expectation, and all Edric could do was watch.

“Captain,” Garran said, voice low. “Are we not going to do anything?”

Edric’s shoulders sagged. “Let him take the Healer. This is not over yet. We can consider later—”

He paused as he caught something in the air.

Lilac and daisies.

That was the first thing that tickled Edric’s nose.

Lilac and daisies, and a touch of spice in the mix. Not too sharp that it would make a man feel as if he’s about to sneeze, not too soft that it would pass by without leaving a mark. Just the right amount of it so that you would feel its presence.

Then followed the prickling of his skin as if touched by a swarm of shadows. Made him shiver all of a sudden, made him feel as if he was back in the Broken Lands with the insidious pressure of the Tainted Father ever present in one’s core like a pair of eyes seeing all there was to see. No secrets. Nothing to hide in the face of that eternal darkness.

This one carried just the signs of it, yet it was still unmistakably real.

Edric embraced the inner flame before the voices began. His hand made for the handle of his sword, froze just when he was about to touch it. Whispers filled into his mind. Hundreds of them speaking that foul nonsense that was the shadow’s tongue.

“It’s too loud here,” she said with the most beautiful voice Edric had ever heard. Then came a loud thump. The stone doors swung wide open behind him. The scent of her perfume filled the study. Edric didn’t turn. He didn’t want to see that face ever again, but the Bishop didn’t have the chance to turn away.

The mighty Cornelius flinched back, hands trembling. He tried to close his eyes but failed, for she demanded every speck of his attention, every bit of his being with her face alone. You couldn’t turn away from it unless she wanted you to. Not when she caught you unprepared.

“And that quill of yours,” Lenora said. “That Healer did something to it. It’s not working anymore.”

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