Chương 35: A Moment's Respite

They found a decent tavern for the night once they made sure the drakes were uninjured and comfortable. The town guards were utterly deferential to Lenore's orders as she told them what needed to be done to keep the warbeasts subdued and rested. Most of them seemed awestruck by her. It wasn't often one of them got to interact with a Master face-to-face, doubly so with a pale beauty like her. For Alcyr, it was surreal to be surrounded by such low-level fighters again.

Most of the guards were only in the Initiate tier, with only one of two of their sergeants being Journeyman. Men who were decades older than him shrank before his presence. When he asked one of the younger guards for directions, the boy had turned white and was stuttering so heavily that Alcyr was worried he might faint. Ural stepped in and clasped a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me handle this, eh, Butcher? It's not your fault; Your overwhelmingly heroic stature makes the locals nervous." Despite the shock trooper being clearly larger and more intimidating than Alcyr, the Regular soon managed to get some directions from the skittish guard, even managing to gather a small crowd with his boisterous and charismatic attitude as he spun them an outlandish tale of how they survived the storm. It made Alcyr a little irritated. Just a little.

When he asked Vormas about this later, the officer gave him a pitying look.

"Maybe if you stopped glaring at people, they wouldn't think you're about to kill them when you approach."

"I wasn't glaring," Alcyr insisted.

"They have no reason to be afraid. I was just tired and asking a question."

"You looked like you were about to tear their heads off. Even I got a little scared for their sake when you started stomping around the barn demanding directions." By the time they reached the tavern, trudging briefly through the storm with warm coats and heated stones in their chest pockets, it was barely dusk. They could hardly tell because of the blizzard, but they had actually made it to the town a little earlier than expected.

"Grab something to eat, then head straight to sleep," Lenore instructed.

"There's not much else we can do in this storm. Ural, I left you some coins. Get us two rooms, as well as meals for tonight and tomorrow. Officer Vormas, take the pills I gave you and get some hot soup before you rest. Check your extremities for frostbite, and if present, seek the tavern's physician immediately." Alcyr frowned.

"You are not staying?" She shook her head.

"I would be best if I sought the town minister right away. The guards had already notified him of my presence. He will be expecting me."

"I will go with you." When he saw Ural and Vormas raise their eyebrows, he hurriedly added, " To find the diviner. It's the whole reason I came here, after all. Someone of their importance will be staying in the minister's mansion, correct?"

"You can seek their expertise tomorrow," Lenore said firmly.

"While it's not exactly that late in the night right now, a diviner is not someone you can just seek out without prior arrangements, even with a House commendation in hand. I will see to it that they are available for your reading before we leave town. You have my word." Lenore left the tavern soon after, guided by a pair of town guards. Ural slapped Alcyr in the back.

"Don't look so forlorn, Butcher. The lady will be back by tonight. In the meantime, why don't we boys have a little chat and get some nice drinks, eh?"

"I'll pass," Alcyr sighed. He was exhausted.

"A hot meal and a warm bed are all I want at the moment." Ural looked disappointed but did not press.

"Very well. The little officer over there is already half-asleep in his chair, and you look ready to fall over. The skill you used to boost our mounts must have taken a toll. Why don't you take a seat? I'll arrange our meals and beds. You'll like the food here! I frequent this place during my leave; they have the best rooms and meat this side of town." The tavern was nice, Alcyr would admit. The atmosphere was cosy and clean, with a glorious amber warmth provided by a crackling hearth in the centre of the room.

The scent of roasted meat, spiced ale, and fresh bread mingled with the cheerful murmur of well-dressed patrons. Snow piled thickly against the shutters, but within the sturdy timber-framed building, the storm outside felt distant and harmless. It was an expensive place, too — hardly the back-alley alehouses or common halls he was used to. He would not have been able to afford a room here when he was an Irregular. The three of them drew attention, but the patrons were well-mannered enough to avoid disturbing them.

Ural soon got them bowls of steaming stew, roast meats, and bread.

"Two rooms." The giant tossed Alcyr a key.

"Yours is the third one on the left, second floor. The little officer and I will take the other room." Alcyr frowned.

"Shouldn't you and Lenore take a room instead?"

"Me and the captain?" Ural reeled back in mock horror.

"No, no. That woman scares me too much. You are better with her, I'm sure." Vormas squinted.

"You got us all beds of our own, right?" The mutant trooper grinned widely.

"Of course, of course! You and I will each have our own space, little officer. No need to cuddle." There was something about the way Ural said that which made Alcyr suspicious, but he was too tired and hungry to care. The food was good — far better than the slop he'd eaten from a street stall the last time he was in Lafmere. Alcyr and Vormas ate slowly, but Ural had wolfed down his meal in an eyeblink. The giant then moved on to jugs of ale and wine, practically inhaling them by the keg.

He began talking to the other patrons, moving deftly among them and gathering their attention with an expert's experience. Rather than being insulted or intimidated by the giant, they were soon drawn in by his wild tales and powerful stature.

"This is not a hero the bards will tell you," Ural began, standing in the centre of the room atop a table, the giant enrapturing everyone with his sonorous baritone.

"The Butcher of the Red Rime! Have you heard of him? He is a warrior of uncanny wit and brutish strength. A monster and a saviour; a man of contradictions, like all great heroes! But above all, undefeatable! No barbarian, warlord, or deranged fiend can kill him! And all who tried found death by his blade!" Vormas watched Ural with some confusion.

"Is he talking about you?" he asked Alcyr.

"He's drunk and bored," Alcyr stated drily, moving on to his second bowl of stew and third loaf of bread.

"So long as he does not stir trouble and gets us kicked out, we should simply ignore him." Vormas looked concerned.

"You're not… even slightly worried about this?"

"No. Why should I?" Ural continued on in the background.

"Born of foetal divinity, baptised in hellfire. His steps herald death, his form devours… Just an hour ago, I witnessed him unleash a fraction of his strange powers. With mere words alone — words stolen from the elemental spirits and djinns of higher realms — he held back the storm and invigorated our draconic mounts, delivering us safely to your town!"

'Foetal divinity, baptised in Hellfire'… It's the exact same words… That confirmed his theory. First Roland, then Ishmael… Something very dangerous was following him, and Alcyr didn't know if confronting it was either wise or worth it. Vormas raised an eyebrow.

"Hear that? You command djinns now. Tomorrow, he will have the patrons here believing you walked the planes of heavens and hells themselves." A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Alcyr forced himself to remain calm and expressionless.

"Ridiculous. Nobody with a modicum of intelligence will believe him."

"Well, no one really believes ballads and rumours at first, obviously. But then word starts to spread, people begin second-guessing, and before you know it, it becomes truth," Vormas shrugged.

"Doesn't help you keep pulling off impossible feats. Didn't you fend off a Grandmaster-tier assassin a few weeks ago? While bedridden, no less."

"And I nearly died doing that." In fact, he had died countless times just trying to survive.

"Well, I suspect you're making a terrible mistake by not stopping this now, but the prospect of watching you face the consequences is amusing enough to stay my hand." Vormas shrugged as he stood up.

"I suppose I shall retire to bed, then. And check my toes for frostbite." The officer trudged his way upstairs. Alcyr stayed for a moment, finishing his meal before similarly heading upstairs, leaving Ural to continue his wild stories alone and unsupervised to an ever-growing crowd. I will have to deal with that eventually… But there was still time. Before he forced a confrontation, he had to figure out a proper way to do it. His room was dark.

With the blizzard outside, there was barely a speck of light entering from the windows. Too tired to bother with a candle, he found a corner and stoically stripped himself of his gear, down to his undergarment. Navigating through the pitch-black room by touch, he eventually found his way to the bed. It was a lot larger than he thought it would be, but that suited him fine, given his larger physique. He had a full belly, thick blankets, and a feather-stuffed mattress that felt soft as clouds.

It was the most comfortable he had been in a very long time. Sleep beckoned. Alcyr did not resist and gratefully allowed his mind to fall into darkness.

The sound of dripping water woke him. His body was wet, and he was unclothed. Instantly alert, he opened his eyes and sat up. He was not in his bed, and this was not the tavern. An all-encompassing abyss stretched as far as his eyes could see, with an inch of freezing water covering the ground. In the distance, a wooden rowboat sat placidly atop the waters, its lone occupant waiting with her lantern and golden staff. Alcyr frowned. Here again?

He was returned once more to a familiar recess of Hell — the boundary between life and death. With naught else to do, he walked towards the rowboat. The woman remained as unfathomable as before: features shrouded beneath the cloak, her presence overwhelming in its sheer weight and potency, like the pull of the moon or the weight of an ocean. Alcyr sat in the boat with her. She did not acknowledge him. After a minute of waiting, he spoke first.

"Why have you brought me back here?" She raised her head. The darkness beneath the shroud seemed to judge him unkindly.

"An interesting accusation from the intruder who barged into my abode. I didn't bring you here, fool. You came in uninvited." Did he? All he did was sleep.

"Fine. How do I leave?"

"At my leisure." She stirred in her seat.

"Why are you still alive?" He raised an eyebrow.

"An interesting accusation from the god who keeps resurrecting me."

"I am no god."

"God-like, then. What's the difference?"

"No. What I meant was, I am no god to you."

"... Are you going to keep being annoyingly cryptic, or would you rather us have a normal conversation?" The Stranger didn't answer. She raised a hand, delicate and snow pale. The golden staff behind her levitated. Alcyr stiffened. He readied himself for a fight.

"Be at ease," the Stranger said.

"I will not harm you. Not here." The lantern upon the staff unhooked itself and remained afloat. The staff spun lazily in the air, descending until it rested upon the edges of the boat, sitting horizontally between them. It was beautiful. Looking closer, it was as if a pillar of black iron were encased in ornate gold serpents.

"Do you recognise this?" she asked. Hesitantly, as if compelled by some long-buried instinct, he reached out and grabbed it. He tried lifting it. It would not move. No matter how much Alcyr strained himself, it did not budge a single inch.

"Enough." The woman raised a finger. The staff levitated effortlessly again and returned to its previous place behind her, its lantern hooking itself above them once more. Alcyr raised an eyebrow.

"Was that a test?"

"One that you failed. One that I hope you will continue to fail."

"And now we are back to crypticism. Does it come naturally to you, or are you making a conscious effort just to annoy me?"

"The latter." Her admission was so dry, so unexpected, that Alcyr was left stunned for several seconds. Then he burst out chuckling. For several seconds, the void was filled with the sound of his earnest amusement. For a moment, he thought he saw the Stranger relax and heard an exhale that sounded close to laughter. A lull fell over them, and the tenseness between them faded. The Stranger spoke once more.

"Why have you not relinquished your chains?" He frowned.

"Do you speak of the time loops? It's hardly my choice. I have attempted several methods to escape it. None of them worked."

"I don't speak of your cowardice," the Stranger said. Though her words were harsh, her tone carried neither accusation nor anger.

"I speak of your advancement. Twelve Paths present themselves before you, ready to aid you in your journey across the Hundred Worlds. Why have you not sought their guidance? Why do you not pray to the Saints?" Alcyr did not answer. The Stranger leaned forward. When she asked once more, her impassive tone carried the faintest hint of emotion.

"Alcyr Rivers. Why do you remain Godless?" Godless… The Twelve Saints were the inaugural progenitor of belief — the beholder of the System's twelve Paths. The moment everyone gained their System, they were given a choice of faith: Authority. Creation. Perpetuity. Tenebrosity. Nihility. Chaos. Agony. Rapture. Dominion. Pulchritude. Revelation. Violence. A soul may pledge allegiance to one of the Twelve Saints.

In exchange, they would gain a Path Title — their first title — as well as the opportunity to receive a great many boons by devoting their souls to the teachings of their chosen deity. Millions upon millions of souls, scattered across the Hundred Worlds, had adopted this practice. To a normal person, there was no other logical alternative. To walk the roads well-travelled was rational. To trailblaze one's fate was insanity. And yet, Alcyr worshipped no Gods. He took no Path. His first title remained Godless.

Faced with the Stranger's concern, he decided to answer honestly.

"I do not require the guidance of higher power to reach them. I will carve my own Path to the Godless Heavens alone."

"Because of your dream." Alcyr nodded. He spoke it aloud, unashamed.

"I will become a Saint." The pale fingers of the Stranger twitched — the first involuntary action he had seen from her.

"What breathtaking arrogance… You say things no man should say, do things no man should do. And you expect to escape your dues? The Fates must be torn between pitying you or cursing you for your insulting impiety. Tribulations shall haunt your steps for so long as you live."

"And what about you?" he asked, curious.

"Do you pity me?"

"I am but an observer. My judgement is not for the likes of you. Know, however, that your suffering garners no sympathy from me. An addict to pain. A coward to peace. A slave, through and through." She raised her hand.

"Begone from my sight." Hell's waters came up to pull him. This time, Alcyr did not resist.

"Until we meet again," he said, nonplussed. He was dragged under, drowning in darkness once more. Time and space grew meaningless. Then, after an eternity and a second, he opened his eyes. The darkness of the storm had passed. Now, though the window was thick with frost and snow, daylight broke through and brightened his room.

"A good start," he murmured. With the blizzard gone, there should be nothing impeding his meeting with the diviner. He tried to sit up from the bed, but then stopped when he felt something was off. It was… too warm. It wasn't just the warmth of the blanket. This was a sinful warmth — seductive and soft, pressed pleasantly against his skin. There was movement beneath the blanket. He felt a touch like silk trace across his bare chest, followed by the soft exhale of a breath not his.

With almost resigned dread, he looked down. Coiled around his half-naked body, deeply asleep and indescribably lovely, was Lenore. Somehow, the two of them had slept through the night in the same bed.