BleedingTears
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Arcanist - Chapter 68
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 15:49:49 +0000 UTCIt seemed all the roads in Belgrave led around in circles, crowded with a gray density of high buildings, pointy-towered churches, wide and giant factories, smoke-belching chimneys, and pits, and more chimneys further ahead, paved roads, unpaved roads, construction sites, priests, busy-looking men, fancy-dressed women and ladies, and little children with soot-marked faces running about holding their little hats to their tiny little heads.
There was a rush to the life here, a certain heat in the way everyone carried on with their days. A certain panic that suggested something terrible might happen if even a single person from this gray crowd were to ever be late to whatever appointment or job or work they were trying to catch up on.
They all take their time to sneak a glance at us, though. I guess that’s something.
The golden carriage must’ve been sparkling like a gem jutting out of mud here in all the grayness, and Valens crossed eyes on more than one occasion with people who stood agape at the mere sight of it, which obliged him to adjust his new set of clothes in hopes to match the grandeur of the company beside him, yet failed as wool could only be so further smoothened.
I’m terribly in need of some fancy clothing, as well.
To fix himself a wardrobe of new clothes, hats, coats, or even scholarly robes like the ones the Magi wore in Empire, however, he would need a pocket full of whatever currency they used here. That brought a sense of normalcy to his mind, the sudden consideration of money which had been a trifling, worldly presence long forgotten in the face of crooked monsters and shadowy creatures.
But now that he found himself in what seemed like a somewhat passable civilization, Valens was reminded of his lacking qualities, and other possibilities.
If the ritual had flung him right here rather than the depths of a Rift, with no prior preparation and not even a bag of clothes, then he would have had to carve a new life out of that desperation by relying on his skills, which possibly would’ve ended up with him being locked in some prison by the Church, or driven to insanity by the sheer paranoia of the religious folk on account that he might have a revelation being concocted in the stretches of his mind.
Coming across Nomad and the following experiences he had with the Duality Guild, then being taken gently by the Templars, though, gave him at least something to work with since he’d be a part-time employee in the Church’s evil-fighting campaign, with people whom he could barely trust, and a host of mysteries waiting for him to be unraveled.
Still, he peered out from the window of the carriage like a kid fresh out of academy, marvelling at the new sights and new horizons that awaited him, clicking his tongue now and then at the novelty of this world. All things considered, he managed to stay alive and find his way to the heart of the Melton Kingdom.
The real work starts now.
He smiled. He had a good feeling about this.
…
The Sun’s Cathedral loomed higher than any building in the capital, adorned with an ungodly number of drawings, frescos, golden strands and golden manastones, sparkling like a giant ingot of gold that dropped in the middle of Belgrave.
Dozens of people crowded the long stairs leading up to its high-arched entrance, which carried the sign of the Blessed Father, a golden sword whose tip faced skyward. Dozens more were exiting through the double doors, chins dipped low in servitude, hands clasped around golden chains that carried the sigil of the Sun’s Church.
It didn’t slip past Valens’s notice that the crowd here looked a lot better and dressed a lot fancier than the rugged string of working people he’d seen in the streets far away from the core of the city. The women wore dark, rich tones, mostly navy, burgundy, or forest green, made of quality silk and satin, topped with long-reaching capes, bonnets or hats, and a pair of gloves as if the very notion of showing their fingers would be a sin in the presence of the holiness surrounding the Cathedral.
The same was true for the veils they wore, but they didn’t entirely shade their faces from the public. Men, on the other hand, preferred long, knee-length frock coats made of dark wool, striped, high-waisted trousers in shades of gray or brown, and waistcoats in often subtle contrasting colors. Neckties and cravats were common as well, although top hats and gloves were the real pieces that demanded a stranger’s attention.
Captain Edric ushered them toward a side entrance away from the public’s eyes, though not without getting a shower of looks dripping with a generous amount of gratitude and awe. Some women even started shedding tears of joy against the shining plates of the Templars, and men tipped their hats in respect as they gave way to their multi-faceted group.
“They didn’t clap,” Garran said as he opened the visor of his helmet, looking sourly disappointed. He scowled when Valens gave him a look. “They usually do that. I like it.”
“I thought we’d be avoiding the masses after our little speech about you fighting the devil in discretion since there are thousands of people at the other side of the stick?” Valens asked.
“That’s when we’re on an active case,” Garran said, smiling as he waved a hand at two particularly grateful ladies who stared with teary eyes at him. “And the Church wants people to know they’re being taken care of, and taken care of by reliable people.”
Then they should see you at work. You’re hardly the most reliable man I’ve met.
Valens could still remember Garran's indifference regarding the aftermath of the Duality Guild's Rift. To him, men who died cruel deaths at the hands of a Necromancer were only a thing to be shrugged off, not taken all too seriously. It wasn’t until they got to know each other that the Templar started showing his other side.
We all have our different personalities.
Not Mas, though. He was the epitome of single-mindedness, and he showed that at every bit of an opportunity where he could glare at Valens as if he truly believed he could kill him with his gaze.
Not today, buddy. I have a Bishop to meet.
…..
“It’s surprisingly dark here,” Valens said as he felt with his sound vision the long, dark hallway they were trudging on for some time. The frequencies were muted here, strangely silent save for the occasional pitch that rose from beyond the dark walls. “One might expect the interior of the Golden Church to be, I don’t know, full of golden lights?”
“It’s radiant above. Bright and lively,” Marcus said, voice slightly stiff. He rubbed at his face and scowled out into the dark walls. “Everyone has their secrets.”
“33 floors under the ground.” Celme pulled at her rough coat thrown over her shoulders and pulled Selin closer by the hand, the young woman allowing herself to be led with eyes wide as saucers. “That’s what I’ve heard. 33 floors under the Golden Cathedral, each divided for a different purpose.”
“You’ve heard wrong,” Captain Edric said. “The Melton Cathedral only has nine floors. The one you’re talking about is the Church of the Eternal Sun, the one built in the Broken Lands.”
“Was that classified information?” Valens asked.
“Depends on what you do with it,” the captain said. “Do any of you have any intention to plan a heist on these churches?”
Valens and Celme shared a look. Marcus dipped his chin low while Selin shuddered visibly.
“Good,” Captain Edric smiled. A rare sight. “Then it’s not classified at all. But it’d do you good to learn that each floor is protected by a number of measures. The Melton Cathedral, for one, can be a terrible place for anyone who hasn’t passed their Third Trials.”
“So you say this Bishop Cornelius picked himself quite the place to live?” Valens said. “I’d thought Bishops are supposed to give service to the public, not hide behind layers upon layers of protection under a Church.”
“We have other people to do that,” Garran said. “Bishop Cornelius is responsible for the Golden Wards and the shadowy business that goes around the capital. An old-minded man, he is, but not as bad as Lenora.”
“No one can be as bad as Lenora,” Captain Edric muttered.
“That’s why you’ve sent Dain to fetch her,” Valens looked at the pair of them. “Because you didn’t want to deal with her.”
“She likes Dain,” Garran said. “And I think Dain likes her too. I don’t know, he never talks too much about this stuff.”
It’s because he doesn’t talk at all.
They turned another dark corner and trudged on with the thumping steps of the Templars echoing across the hallway. Valens considered whether some light from a Fireball would ease the heavy air of the underground, but decided against it since he didn’t want to come off as a warmongering, battle-hungry sort of Healer in his first meeting with the Bishop.
What’s the plan here? Do I just let the captain do the talking and wait, or have my own piece in the mix? Obviously, I can’t tell the man that I’m from a different world, nor can I say that I can see souls inside people. That’d be very suspicious of me. The ancient part, too, is another to keep secret. Damnit. There are just too many secrets.
“We’re here.” Garran’s voice jerked Valens back from the deep pit that was his mind and brought him back to the present, only to pause when he saw a giant door fixed into a side wall.
There was a man waiting in front of it.
“Oh, aren’t these the respectable Templars of the Sun’s Church, the very distinguished group of gentlemen working day and night to keep our lands free from the Tainted Father’s venom? A sight for my sore eyes, I must admit. And how bright those plates are! I could’ve spent a whole day watching the play of lights over them," the man said with a grand gesture of his hands.
Captain Edric slowed down to a halt and halted with him the whole group. He swept the middle-aged man who wore an expensive suit with a stare. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
“Oh, where are my manners!” the man took his hat off and bowed slightly with the elegance of a man who turned the act of greeting into an admirable show. He rose back smiling from his little stunt and put his top hat back. “My name is Sarek Vesmur, and it has come to my attention that my expertise is needed in a case that involves the members of the Duality Guild.”
“The Lightmaster sent you?” the captain frowned. “That old guy…”
“Indeed,” Sarek kept his smile as he pointed a finger to Celme and Marcus. “I’ll be at the hearing as the official lawyer of the Guild.”
“What hearing?” Garran said. “There’s no hearing. We brought them here because of the Healer.”
“Anything can become a hearing if it involves men capable of making life-altering decisions,” Sarek said, hardly bothered by the fact that he was being stared at by a group of Templars dressed in full plates with their swords visible in their sheaths. “We wouldn’t want the honest to get served, or even treated unfairly, would we, young Templar? Now, I believe the Bishop is waiting for us. Let us not keep him alone for any longer.”
“You have a lawyer?” Valens decided to ask when it looked like the captain and the lawyer would be staring at each other for a little longer.
“It’s complicated,” Celme said, shrugging as if the matter had nothing to do with her. “He’s not actually a lawyer. Well, he is one, but he’s not a lawyer-lawyer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Valens asked.
“He’s from the guild,” Marcus said. “And he’s the cousin of the Lightmaster.”
What’s wrong with this guild? The king is the Lightmaster’s brother, and now there’s a cousin too.
“A Caligian,” Captain Edric was saying. “And not a clever Caligian, too, considering you’ve decided to join a random guild in Melton of all places.”
“Why, we all have our reasons, don’t we, captain?” Sarek twirled his moustache, looking perfectly calm and in control as he smiled at Captain Edric. “Better to keep them close to our hearts than lay them all out here. I can keep you company if your wish is to further question the periods of my life and how I ended up here in Belgrave.”
“No need,” Captain Edric said. “Do what you must, but this matter is about the Healer. Your ties with him… are not important anymore.”
“Oh?” Sarek arched an eyebrow at Valens, eyes brightening as if he’d seen a comet weaving across the sky. “Is this he? The god-sent saint the Guild Master told me about? A fine young man, indeed. I can see the confidence in those eyes. And arrogance, too, eh?”
He walked over with one hand over his hat and stretched his other hand in a shake. Rather than waiting, he clasped one of Valens’s hands in his own, pulled him closer and offered him a wide smile. “Thanks, young Healer, for helping my guild without expecting anything in return. If you want, I can offer my services—“
“He’s with us,” Garran’s voice thumped heavy in the hallway. “He doesn’t need your help.”
“With you?” Sarek frowned for the very first time. “I’m afraid I couldn’t follow. What did you mean—“
“We don’t have time for this,” Captain Edric said, moving briskly to the door. “Try to hold that mouth of yours. I’ll do the talking.” He gave a look at Valens and knocked on the door.
......
Comments
BlastYoBoots
Now I'm imagining a scene in my head where despite all the other secrets Valens KNOWS to keep to himself, he genuinely has no idea that stubbornly introducing himself as a "Resonant Healer" would send the bishop stumbling backwards. XD
Stephen Pearson
Thanks for the chapter! :-)
