Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 110: Our Turn

A bloody sight welcomed Valens beyond the main gate of the Cathedral. Lines of men lying in their own dirt, being attended by prayers and lifemana of the Priests. It was busy work in the Blessed Father’s house, and those faces looked lost and confused more than ever.

Garran led them through the din with his sword clasped tight in his hands, people giving way as he and Dain bounded across with golden plates shining. Valens appreciated the fact that they were known here, unlike him, who happened to be a new recruit with not a lot to show for it.

These are all young men and women. Look at those faces. They don’t even know what the hell has happened.

Silencing the voices that told him men were dying around him proved disturbingly painful as he moved past them. He wished he couldn’t hear the frequencies—the gushing of blood and the sorrow of the cries, of the coughs and the choking tears, of the death creeping slowly to claim its price.

All for a bigger purpose, he reminded himself. He wasn’t a small gear in the giant machine that was the Empire now. Back then, his sole duty was to attend the wounded and think not much about it. Heal the wounded and get back, wait for the orders to come around.

Here, he was out searching for the one behind all of this. That was a mission beyond his troubles. A duty above anything else that he had ever done.

Trouble was, the voices weren’t just muttering about the Healer within him. They tried reaching for the Mage, telling him that it was high time he cast the other side into the oblivion. Let go of the pain and the past—become a man of his own. This had nothing to do with him. So long as he embraced these urges and let the Apathy take control, he wouldn’t have to endure this heavy pressure.

That’d be the easy way of doing this.

Felt like a coward’s thinking, however.

“I’m not made for this place,” Nomad grunted after him, dragging himself, wincing down the hallway, lips stretched into a tight frown. “Not entirely made out of sacred material, you see? These walls are creeping over me.”

“Don’t worry,” Valens said, waving a finger at him. “I’ll put a stop to them if they ever get too close.”

“Right,” Nomad forced out a smile. “Forgot I have you here.”

“Mind introducing your new friend to us?” Garran said as they turned a corner, down a set of stairs, into the underground part of the Cathedral. Cold and damp air welcomed them here. “He’s got some experience to him, I have to say. Not everyone can order around those pups of ours.”

Valens blinked. He hadn’t thought much about the introduction phase after he dragged Nomad with them inside.

At least he’s looking like a man. That’s something.

They exchanged a glance with Nomad before the newly fitted undead decided to do the talking.

“The name is Nomad,” he said with a tilt of his chin. “Heard the chaos and decided to take my part in it. A man has to do what’s right for him, eh, esteemed Templar? Even God’s men could use some help, to my thinking.”

“That, you’re right,” Garran said, looking over his shoulder for a second, a smile playing on his lips. That expression didn’t ease Valens’s worries. He knew even though Garran looked like a simple warrior, he was rather subtle with his probes. Always thinking of the possibilities.

But never voicing them. That’s what makes him dangerous. A calculating man, unlike the Captain and others.

“We have the boundaries and the brotherhood. The police and the Guilds. It just never occurred to us that an Ancient Order would come knocking on our door. This is not common at all,” Garran said, shrugging. “But you play with the hand you’re dealt.”

“I get that,” Nomad nodded.

“You do?” Garran said.

“I know what it feels like when your own people turn against you,” Nomad said, looking out into the hallway ahead, eyes distant. “Or you turn against them. There’s a difference.”

“Any suggestions, then? Other than the fact that we have to find the mastermind behind this damned rebellion?” Garran said, then paused as he glanced at Dain. “This is a rebellion, right? I mean, you saw those people. They looked pissed.”

“Sool,” Dain grunted.

“Can’t blame me,” Garran shook his head. “Never been in this situation before, which is why they put only a few of us here, in Haven’s Reach. Chimeric Order, though? I’d say there’s something strange going on here that we’re not aware of.”

“It’s the fog,” Valens said. “It somehow seeps into people’s souls and takes control of them. They’re not aware that they’re being used. Then you have the Shifters. Do you remember the first time we glimpsed at Jack’s soul?”

“Jack’s soul?”

“Yes,” Valens nodded. “After you proved fists weren’t motivating enough for the man to talk, we took a look at that man’s soul with Lenora.”

“You couldn’t see anything. I remember that,” Garran said.

“Lenora said Jack’s soul was shrouded. Veiled, which is why she asked for that Sacred Artifact from Broken Lands,” Valens muttered. “But I think the real reason why we couldn’t see anything was because of this Chimeric Order. Most of the people I treated in the clinic have turned into Shifters. They have a way to hide their souls.”

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“They have certainly prepared a lot for this,” Garran said. “All for a Gate that I have never seen before. But then, that’s one of the first lessons. Never try to reason your way out of trouble involving evil classes.”

“You just blast through them with force,” Nomad muttered.

“Exactly,” Garran smiled, and this time, it looked real. “Find the culprit and stick a sword through them. Simple business, if you’d ask me.”

“We’re getting close,” Valens said as he caught a shift in the Resonance.

The songs of the world prickled his skin. The hymns and the murmurs, the voices mixed into an unrecognizable mess. Heaps of them cascading wantonly, and trying to make sense of them was like picking his way through a beach of thorns.

It hurt lending an ear to them, but it didn’t take long before he focused on a particularly insidious rhythm of frequencies, echoing in the same wavelength over and over again, speaking in the tongue of shadows here under the Cathedral.

A new dawn, she’s saying?

He didn’t know if these voices belonged to that Evercrest woman, but it seemed like she was trying to convince someone. Little was being spoken about the Gate, however, since that sounded like a done deal already.

Corner after corner, through the dark corridors under the church, into the halls Valens had never seen before. The crooked elegance and the dreary fashion of Belgrave were reflected in medieval simplicity here. An ancient sword there, a battered shield here. Long carpets stretching across the ground with dust sitting thickly over them.

When they arrived at the prison on the third floor, they were confronted by nothing other than silence hanging over the air. Lenora wasn’t there, and other than the bloody footprints on the ground, not a single soul welcomed them around the cells.

They moved on, following the footprints. By the time they climbed down the fifth set of stairs, the air started getting to Celme. She coughed, and whenever she tried to breathe, a forceful, wheezing rattle shook the cage of her chest. Nomad managed to brave on, but he might as well have torn his new skin by how his face got twisted at each step further down into the depths.

“The boundaries are still strong,” Garran voiced the obvious, one hand held over his nose, eyes squinted in focus. Dain huffed beside him, sweat trickling down from his forehead. “There are four more floors still.”

“I don’t think those have any effect on an Ancient,” Valens said, gazing downward. He hadn’t told anything about his origins to the Templars, and he liked to keep it that way. The less people knew about it, the more time he would have to wrap his head around this.

He wasn’t worried about Celme. The woman had already left her guild to warn them in the middle of chaos. She could’ve gone to the Broken Lands and left everything behind. Valens knew she hated the people of Belgrave with passion—loathed their practiced ignorance about the truth of their world, how they kept their fancy little dresses clean and houses grand while surrounded by darkness.

A Berserker she might be, but turning against the very people you spent your whole life with? That takes courage.

Nomad, on the other hand, had burnt too many bridges to even come here. Valens doubted he rebelled against the Undead Legion out of the compassion he bore for the people of Haven’s Reach, but then, so long as the purposes aligned, nothing was strange about doing the good thing on occasion.

Or he was just tired of being told what he should do.

The Templars, though, belonged to the Church. Not all of them were zealots like Mas, but if they somehow learned that Valens had something to do with this sudden rebellion—even if the Captain and the others would argue against it—chances were slim that they would spare him.

Bishop Cornelius is only a bishop, after all. There is more to the Church than what I saw in Belgrave. Most of their organization is out there in the Broken Lands.

And due to Mas and Dain having sent the signal for help, they would be arriving soon, which was why Valens had to be cautious.

Well, that’s new for me.

He found himself smiling at that, and got stared at for it. Valens didn’t mind it. His companions weren’t aware, but with all the frequencies rushing at his mind and the guilt nibbling at his heart for having left those wounded alone above the ground, smiling was the last thing on his mind—and yet he did it.

Guess I can take care of myself without relying on Apathy, too. That’s progress.

They slowed down as Garran raised a fist ahead, peering cautiously toward another set of stone stairs that led to the seventh floor.

“From here on, the real trouble starts,” he said. “Watch your feet and arms. Don’t stay too close to the walls. They have eyes down there, and they don’t take kindly when strangers try to force their way in.”

Those walls were all broken and in pieces when they arrived at the seventh floor. Giant statues lay in crumbled heaps by the sides, their weapons scattered about mindlessly. It was as though a monstrous bull had run through them without regard for its life, and laid waste to anything that dared to stand before it.

“Shit,” was all Garran had to say against this sight while looking greatly bothered.

“I reckon we’re not dealing with the slippery kind of woman here,” Nomad commented, bending a knee to check one of the statues. “These things are durable and tough. Even a man who’s gone through his Third Trial couldn’t have taken them on.”

Valens nodded. He could tell by the lingering frequencies just how one-sided of a battle had taken place here. Whoever that woman was, she didn’t come here unprepared. She brought help with her.

Or the help was already waiting for her inside.

“There’s a hole,” Celme said as she stepped past him, pointing with a finger to a hole across the ground big enough for a few men to pass through.

“Looks like they took a shortcut,” Garran said, frowning. “But before that, we should find Lenora—”

“I don’t think Lenora’s around here, waiting for us,” Valens interjected. He scowled as the voices grew clearer in his mind. “I think she’s down there, with that Evercrest woman. Someone else is keeping them company.”

“Jack?” Dain asked.

“I don’t know,” Valens said, shaking his head. “But there’s something strange there.”

It’s the frequencies.

The air seemed vacant and heavy with the damp, but Valens could see through his sound vision invisible threads dangling from the roof of the floor—perhaps leading even further up. They pulsed ever so slightly with a strange force.

“Friend,” Garran said, patting Nomad on the shoulder with his free hand. “What do you say? Should we lead the group down that hole? Can’t have Dain go ahead since he has a thing with holes.”

“He’s scared of heights?” Celme said, then stifled a cough as her face changed. Valens immediately moved in to help her with a Lifesurge.

“You’re too stiff, and fatigued. Try to preserve your strength,” he warned her. “That means no talking.”

“Not scared as much as being cautious against diving into the unknown. You don’t know half of the stories we’ve been told about the last two floors. There are dark things there. Things we helped put there for years,” Garran said, walking over to the hole and peering down at it. “It’s a long fall.”

“I’m used to it,” Nomad said and stepped beside him. “I can go ahead first—”

“No need,” Garran said, smiling. “This is my house, and if I want to be a good host, then I have to do it even if that means getting some dirt on these hands.”

“You forgot about the armor,” Valens said. “I’d say that thing would make the fall a touch more bearable.”

“Eh, we can always fall back to our Healer if a bone or two gets broken.”

Garran leaned back, gave the group a quick once-over, then cracked his neck with a slow, deliberate roll.

“Well then,” he said, the smile lingering. “Time to knock.”

And without another word, he closed his helmet shut, stepped forward, and dropped into the hole.

Valens watched as the last glint of gold disappeared into the hole, the voices in his head still murmuring, the threads above still pulsing.

No turning back now.

“It’s our turn,” he said, and reached for Gale as Celme gave him a searching look.

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