Chapter 13: His Starting Point I

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[CORBIN VILLAGE - Main Gate]

It was a day after the funeral pyre when a commotion occurred at the main gate. Confused and worried voices rang through the village. Miss Corbin had informed them of the incident, and Muse and Cain who had both returned to staying at Bron’s place nodded to each other before rushing out.

Cain tossed Jord’s sword over to Muse - her sabre was no more, and this was better than nothing. He had washed the crimson axe of its filth. It was a massive weapon and far too oversized for him, but he suspected that Control Scheme would help him with the handling. No matter, if a fight broke out he still had Rey’s bow to rely on.

Webby squeaked from his usual place on Muse’s shoulder. If anything were to happen, he would do his best as well!

It turned out they had been worried for nothing, because when they arrived on the scene Cain saw Muse visibly relax. She turned to smile at him, her little fangs peeking through.

Really, he just wasn’t used to such an otherworldly beauty yet, and she had caught him in one of his most vulnerable moments ever. Cain didn’t quite know how to act around her.

But he shook that thought from his mind.

In front of him, waved through by the village elder, was an armed caravan of knights. The wagon itself was pulled by horses, but the knights were mounted on beasts that looked quite similar to blue lizards except yellow. Instead of the bare forelegs of the blue lizards, they had vestigial wings attached to claws which they used in much the same way.

“It’s okay,” explained Muse. “They’re the authorities.”

The armoured leader of the caravan, dismounted and stepped forward to the village elder. Cain was surprised by the sound of a woman’s voice. He noticed an insignia on her mantle - the same one that Muse had. Four gray vertical lines.

“Emett Corbin, elder of Corbin Village,” said the soft voice. “I am Saya of the Ivy. Master of the Order of the Iron Bar, in charge of the Ermire Province. Please, accept my humblest apologies and condolences for the disaster that has befallen your town.”

She removed her helmet. Braided golden hair and blue eyes. Elegant features. Long ears. An elf.

And then, before the entire crowd of onlookers, she bowed deeply to the village elder. If she went any lower, Cain was sure she would’ve fallen. Gasps from the common folk who knew about the relative statuses of a village elder and an Order Master.

“Order Masters are in charge of the provinces,” explained Muse to Cain. “So there are nine total per order. The capital is always managed by the Grandmasters. They’re really big deals, just a little beneath the status of a provincial lord.”

Emett Corbin moved forward, stunned.

“P-please, Master Saya. Do not bow your head to me.”

“It was the negligence of our Barknights that caused this tragedy,” said Saya, her head still lowered. “I dare not raise my head in light of this. Although, I suppose that wouldn’t be conducive to our impending discussion.”

She raised her head, a flicker of regret at needing to do so flashing across her face. An earnest person, Cain decided. Maybe to a fault.

“Please, let us find a place to discuss reparations we can make, as well the rewards to give out for bringing a wanted criminal to justice.”

The village elder led the knights of the armoured caravan forward. He shot a look at Cain and Muse as he did so, before walking off in the direction of Corbin Estate.

Saya made a motion with her arm, and the rest of the knights dismounted and followed her. The only thing left in the village square now was the wagon, and a multitude of yellow lizards.

A silver-haired man stepped out. He was wearing a manservant’s uniform, and gently led the lizards closer, freeing up some of the space in the village.

“Judging by his expression, I take it you two are the heroes of the night, then.”

Cain and Muse both spun around, startled at the voice behind them. How had they been snuck up on? Since that night, their awareness had been at an all-time high. With the exception of his little... emotional episode, Cain hadn’t relaxed his guard since the raid.

“Grandmaster Baal!” gasped Muse. She made a motion to kneel.

“Don’t,” said the man standing in front of them. “Let us not make a scene now. Master Saya has already taken care of that for us.”

He was tall, about Bron’s size, Cain decided. Unlike the night watchman however, he wasn’t as broad. Dressed in a simple overcoat and bowler hat, his most striking features were his green skin and tusks. His skin was two shades darker than Muse’s, and his tusks were several magnitudes larger than her fangs.

He was, for all intents and purposes, physically what he expected from the word orc. That was, except for his demeanour and dress. Elegance and class. There was not a speck of dust on his clothing, and every movement he made was dignified.

“Cain Thompson, I presume,” said the man. “I am Erioch Baal, Grandmaster of the Order of the Black Lamp. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He bowed, holding his hat out in front of him. Not the deep, laden one that Master Saya had made, but a light and simple gesture of introduction and respect. It made Cain keenly aware that he was wholly alien to the etiquette in this world.

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He copied the motion, feeling foolish. Like a monkey trying to mimic a man.

The people around him didn’t seem to notice the large, differently coloured man in their midst. He blended into the crowd perfectly somehow, despite his size and notable appearance.

“I wish to talk to you about what you are,” said Baal. “Please, let us sit and talk for a spell.”

Cain looked at Muse and she nodded. He stepped forward to follow the large figure, noticing after a few steps that Muse hadn’t followed. Her mind had flashed back to when the Grandmaster had sent her out on her mission and his words then - that the order’s secrets were privy only to their people.

“You too, Squire Aberra,” said Baal coolly. “After all that has happened, you deserve to know.”

Muse nodded curiously and tagged along.

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[CORBIN VILLAGE - Inside the Wagon]

Cain wasn’t sure what he had expected when he had entered the wagon. Supplies, maybe? Armour and weapons for the knights in tow, and maybe some feed for the beasts. All these things were here, but packed neatly enough that there was room for a small table and seats.

The silver-haired manservant he had seen outside came around and set down a few cups in front of them, as well as a little shot glass next to Muse. Excited squeaking. Cain assumed it was for Webby.

“Thank you, Ronove,” said Baal.

Ronove the manservant bowed, before heading back outside, leaving a steaming pot in front of the three as well as spoons for the sugar and honey.

“I hope the two of you don’t mind coffee.”

Cain smiled. Oh, was he glad coffee existed in this world. He wondered briefly how the caffeine would affect him now that he was all... weird, but whatever. It was the distinct flavour that he really craved.

Muse was, instead, flabbergasted. Coffee? Like, the beans she saw in the markets sometimes? She remembered the price placards, and shivered. She was so curious about the taste, but also a little terrified.

Webby on the other hand had no such hesitancy, dropping down and enjoying a long sip from the shot glass, before letting out a contented squeak.

Baal watched them. Cain added a little bit of honey, less than a teaspoon. Muse’s eyes were wild as she looked at his actions. Her hesitancy betrayed her.

“If this is your first time drinking,” said Baal in her direction. “I suggest adding some sugar and honey. Coffee is very bitter, and somewhat of an acquired taste.”

Muse took up his advice, and accepted the spoon as Cain passed it to her.

“You also have coffee where you come from, then,” mused Baal.

Cain knew from his tone of voice that he didn’t mean mere foreign lands.

The atmosphere in the vehicle changed. It was as if the shadows extended beyond their previous sizes, and somehow became darker. Muse and Cain both looked at Baal in earnest. He closed his eyes, steepling his fingers in front of him.

“Where do I start?”

His eyes opened again. Red orbs.

Cain supposed that was an orc racial thing. Both Muse and Baal shared similar red eyes, but whereas Muse’s eyes resembled brilliant rubies, Baal’s irises brought to mind dark and opaque wine.

“I suppose I should start with our order’s mission. We are the Order of the Black Lamp, the Seventh Order that operates in darkness, at an even deeper layer than the Occulted Moons,” explained Baal. “Unlike the other orders, we are charged with only one thing.”

Muse listened, gripped.

“We are to monitor and manage the risks of the extradimensional travellers known as Players.”

This was it. This was what he wanted to know. His throat felt dry. The fact that he even used the word Player. It felt right with what he knew of his own capabilities.

“And I’m one of these Players?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Indeed. The arrival of a new Player is always heralded by the appearance of a new coloured star in the night sky,” explained Baal. “Mere days before notice of you arrived by Squire Aberra’s hand, we saw your star rise. It was a golden yellow colour, and so we knew we were looking for one with black sclera and golden yellow irises.”

Cain touched his face. Muse turned to look at him.

“Those in the know have already named the star,” said Baal. “Astrologians have deemed it Beelzebub, and so that makes you now the Avatar of Beelzebub. I’m certain that Greater Goethia is not the only nation in the world scouring their lands for a stranger with your eyes right now.”

“...I’m really not the only one then?”

“Indeed,” said Baal. “As of right now, the number of coloured and named stars count thirty-one. The stars fall when a Player dies, so we are confident there are only thirty-one active Players at the moment.”

He looked to the sky, before reciting a few names.

“Lucifer. Levistus. Mammon. Belias. Some have been here for decades, and others a mere few years. Not all of which have had their Avatars located, you understand. You are the only latest. In a few months to years, another star of a different colour will rise.”

“What are we?”

Baal sighed, taking another sip of his coffee.

“To be honest... we don’t know,” he answered. “There are commonalities between Players. You all seem to possess the unique ability to ‘level up’. By causing death, you grow stronger.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed already that killing sentient people gives you a lot more... ‘Yee-ecks-pee’ than simply slaying monsters. Needless to say, there have been power-obsessed Players who have taken the quicker route. Nations have been destroyed through massacre after massacre. Armies sent to quell a monster only serving to feed their growth.”

Muse remembered the Grandmaster’s words. How they didn’t need another threat to the kingdom. She was starting to understand.

“We are aware of your freedom from the essential necessities, but other than that, there are two more oddities common to all Players. The first of which is that falls don’t seem to damage Players at all, no matter how high they fall from. And the second is that they cannot be wounded.”

Webby tilted his head. He knew humans, and he knew wounds. How could a human be immune to wounds? That didn’t make sense. The body was a mechanical thing, and if something went wrong then something went wrong.

“This is not to say they don’t take damage, but rather it is as if they ignore that damage until it tips over the edge into death. You can stab a Player with swords all you like, attack their limbs and puncture their eyes. Yet, they feel only a fraction of the pain, and retain all their functions until the threshold is crossed. Then they die immediately. A Player could look as healthy as an ox, but be killed by the stab of a fork if their... ‘Aych-pee’ is low enough.”

Muse and Cain looked at each other. McDougal’s last swing, the one that should’ve bisected Cain and left him in two pieces on the floor.

“There is more,” said Baal. “But we shall leave that to another time, I think. For now, there’s something I want to ask you - no, I must ask you - Cain Thompson.”

He looked directly into Cain’s eyes. The gaze was so direct, if felt as if the orc was seeing directly through him. Cain blinked. Had the Grandmaster’s eyes turned iridescent for a split second there?

“To our nation of Greater Goethia,” he drawled, slowly. “Are you friend or foe?”

A portion of Baal’s shadow split off into its own entity, the shade of a butterfly. It fluttered about, before landing on Cain’s shadow. None in the wagon noticed except the Grandmaster, who betrayed no motion that would give it away.