“I said, Campmaster Magnus, where do people go after they die?” Gaius smiled, although he knew no one would be able to see it in the snow. “It’s a rather basic question.”

           “Basic…” The man’s breathing grew heavy, to the point that Gaius could hear it despite the raging snow. “Yes. It should have been basic. And yet…I never thought of…urgh!”

           Power pulsed outwards from the Campmaster again, this time carrying it with a sense of rampancy and anger. The shockwave blew Gaius backwards, and a faint steely sweetness filled his mouth. “Campmaster…”

           “It’s not just me alone,” rasped the black figure. “Yes. Throughout my entire life, now that I think back about it, no one has ever thought after what comes after death. But now…it feels like a veil that has been covering my eyes for my entire life has been lifted.”

           A painful roar erupted from his lips, carrying with it a statement of disbelief and defiance. Another surge of power blasted out from the hunched figure, but this time, it was directed upwards, scattering the gloomy clouds that’d formed over the camp itself. The snowstorm ended as abruptly as it started, leaving a bloodied Campmaster behind.

           “As I suspected,” said Gaius. “There are some things that one avoids subconsciously. They become shackles that tie one down, preventing them from growing to their full potential. Campmaster, sir, I ask for your forgiveness.”

           The winded Campmaster straightened his back slowly. “So, you have suspected it all along. But why did you find me?”

           “Two reasons,” replied Gaius. “First, if I’m not wrong, you have an indelible connection with Harvester Liam. You were one of those who were most affected by his passing. I feared that simply asking this question to someone who wasn’t affected by the topic of death would not yield the results I wanted.”

           “Liam’s parents?”

           “Do they look like Lords to you?”

           “Good point. I’m not sure if a Knight could handle that…urgh. It hurts just thinking about it.” The Campmaster coughed out some black blood, and then continued to speak. “You suspected that there was some power at play, that prevented us from thinking about what came after death?”

           “Correct.” Gaius folded his arms. “I found it odd that during the funeral, there was an overwhelming focus on Liam’s life, and the events surrounding his death. But there was nothing after it. No…afterlife, nothing. It was odd that no one said anything at all, and from there, I guessed that some higher being was influencing our thoughts.”

           “Higher being…” The Campmaster mulled over these words. “You mean, one of the great gods? Or a…”

           He looked around, and lowered his voice. “A Demigod?”

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           Gaius really wanted to raise an eyebrow at these words, but it would instantly give away the fact that he knew about the existence of a demigod. As it was, the only reaction the little boy could offer was a little head tilt.

           Emulating Campmaster Magnus’ hushed tone, Gaius asked, “What’s a Demigod?”

           “I’m not too sure either. What we managed to hear from Paragon Ortega, however, were that Demigods are gods with a mortal body,” replied the Campmaster. “Although they cannot be compared to the great gods, they wield immense power that is apparently further enhanced from the worship of other people.” 

           “Worship?”

           “Well, the Holy Temple calls these worshippers heretics. It’s also a reason why the Western Holdings are despised by the Central Circle too, since the Sovereign is the subject of adoration by the citizens.”

           Gaius scratched his head, doing his best to emulate what a small child who didn’t understand anything might behave. His mind, however, was calculating rapidly, trying to draw more and more links to whatever dangers that he might have to face eventually.

           The Campmaster glanced at the seemingly confused Gaius and sighed. “Well, I suppose you won’t know what a Demigod is, even if I tell you about it. You’re just a Squire now…it’ll be a decade or so before you even appreciate the true might of a Paragon.”

           There was something a bit off about the Campmaster’s reaction, but Gaius didn’t exactly want to make himself seem even more abnormal that he already was. Gaius had proven his ability to reason out things that had been treated as something to be taken for granted by virtually everyone else, but it didn’t seem to have any further impact on the Campmaster.

Or is it just because I’m still too weak? Gaius rubbed his nose, having just realised that the man in front of him was actually looking down on his capabilities.

           “Anyway, don’t go around asking random people the question that you just posed to me,” reminded the Campmaster. “It was good that you went to find me first, but the effects from…unveiling are very debilitating, to say the least.” 

           “Unveiling?”

           “Yeah, I’m going to call it that,” said the Campmaster. “It does feel like you’ve removed something that’s been blocking up your mental processes, after all. I feel a bit more curious now!”

           That last sentence wasn’t what Gaius would expect from an adult, but it did fit the general childlike property that the little lecturer had grown to expect from the beastfolk in general. And if the Campmaster grew more curious as a result of today’s experiment, so much the better.

           “Well,” said Gaius, “it’s great that you’ve managed to overcome that block then. Maybe you’ll end up being one of the great artificers of our time. Or maybe come up with that one concoction that allows anyone to kill a snowpyre with a single wound.

           “You sure know how to make others feel happy, Lecturer Gaius.”

           Shaking his head, Gaius made his excuses and left the place proper. The snow had stopped falling — a rarity for the Intersection. The grey clouds that usually hung around Heritage Basestation had been forcibly scattered, throwing the Primordial Land above their heads into stark relief. The small cracks on it, the varying shades of grey…Gaius rarely had the chance to peer at the Primordial Land that served as the sky of both the Intersection and Heritage.

           There were probably some hyper-complex principles that allowed the Primordial Land to pull double-duty as the skybox for both the Intersection and Heritage. As the little boy trudged back to his tent, he briefly wondered if he should ask Nexus about it, even though the artificial intelligence most likely wouldn’t know the answer.

           It was worth a shot though.