Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 36 - A godless city - Part One
Watching the stream of numbers and attached names stream rapidly across my vision, it took only a brief glance at my status screen in order to confirm that Takesation was no joke. Initially, the numbers were low, ranging from one to four and occasionally interspersed with a zero or two. However, it only took a few minutes before far larger numbers began joining the stream. It wasn’t until I read through Takesation’s description again that I began to understand why this was the case. They were voluntarily sacrificing larger amounts of Exp to benefit from the increased drop chance awarded by the ability.
Besides the Stone Dolls beneath the ground surrounding Sanctuary, I wasn’t aware of any other monsters that magically generated rewards after being killed. The best explanation I could think of was that those sacrificing larger amounts of their Exp were either experimenting or were targeting monsters that could generate a bonus reward.
Unsure whether Morris would be able to convince the abbot to allow us entry, I decided to put together a backup plan that might change his mind. Of course, there was an element of risk to the assumptions I was making. Firstly, the Angels served a role as messengers of the gods. Secondly, the abbot and priests wouldn’t recognise the difference between a Fallen Angel and a regular one. And thirdly, that the gods wouldn’t intervene and smite my ass for my presumption.
All the same, I packed as much information as I had available into the quest information before sending it to Orphiel. Hopefully, as an Angel himself, Orphiel would know the best approach to take.
As an additional backup plan, assuming the first backup failed or that the abbot was delayed for more than an hour, I planned on temporarily summoning Ril. Hopefully, that would allow her to then teleport to our location and at the very least return Lash to Sanctuary before nightfall. The Ward would stop the Zombies from attacking us, so it might be possible to evacuate Morris and the guardsmen, as well as Rikit’s pack and myself.
It almost came as a disappointment when the large doors were opened a few minutes shy of my self-imposed deadline.
A priest in slightly finer clothes than those who had previously opened the door now stood to the side and motioned for everyone to enter a long passageway with barred windows set along its length. “Please, do not linger, the doors must be held fast against further incursion!”
Waving the guardsmen through first, partly as a gift for their loyalty, partly to discourage any funny business from the priests, Lash and myself entered next and were then followed by Rikit and her pack.
Once everyone was inside, the priest heaved the doors shut and four heavy beams slid into the steel brackets anchored onto the back of the doors. Looking through the windows revealed a ragged militia of priests with spears and crossbows that could easily turn the passageway into a bloodbath if they had a mind to. It also revealed rather primitive mechanisms that the priests had used to move the bars that now held fast the door.
The priest who had encouraged our entry hurriedly made his way to the front and began leading us to the far end of the passageway. After waiting a few moments, the large doors opened to reveal a large courtyard that was currently serving as a sort of checking station for the refugees we had rescued.
By the looks of things, each of them was being checked for bite marks or other injuries behind a number of privacy screens. Once they were deemed to be uninfected, the refugees were given simple garments to replace those they had removed. After dressing in clean clothes, they were free to wait for family or friends before being escorted deeper into the monastery.
The gender disparity from the clergy’s initial showing was no longer present. There seemed to be just as many women as men filling the lower ranks of their monastery. Although now that I was thinking about it, there was a distinct possibility that I may have confused some of the more militant priests from earlier due to their severe and almost uniform haircuts.
So far as I could tell, their religious order had two distinct branches. The first was the militant branch we had encountered earlier. The second seemed to be a more traditional scholarly jack of all trades type of role. Besides the weapons, one of the biggest differences was in their clothing. The militant priests wore padded armour like a soldier and had a shortened religious scapular tied off at the waist. The other priests wore light grey robes and a full-length scapular.
The scapulars worn by both priests had a large jagged hook-like symbol embroidered on the front and back. It wasn’t until after staring at them for a while that I realised they were meant to be an artistic representation of fire.
“The abbot requests your presence,” the priest discreetly informed me, pointing to the far end of the courtyard and a large set of double doors that had thus far remained firmly closed.
Taking Lash’s hand, we followed the priest to the far doors.
“You will need to leave your weapons here,” the priest insisted, “You can take them back when we return, but outsiders are forbidden to take weapons beyond this point.”
Seeing Morris’s weapon laid on a crate off to the side, and under the watch of three of the militant priests, I disarmed and motioned for Lash to do the same.
Having only recovered her axe comparatively recently, Lash let out a reluctant sigh as she handed it over to the priests.
Now that we were disarmed as requested, the doors opened and the priest led us deeper into the monastery.
Entering what looked like a huge chapel, the priest led us past the pews which held a scattering of priests and common refugees that looked to be in deep prayer. Behind the altar was a raised pulpit and elaborately embroidered tapestry that depicted what could only be an Angel. Above each of the Angel’s outstretched hands hovered mirrored flames that matched the embroidery on the priests' scapulars.
The next door requires Lash and I to duck in order to avoid striking our heads. Noticing doors farther down the new passageway that would very likely loop around to the courtyard from earlier, I realised that the priest was most likely trying his best to make use of the larger doorways that were available. Passing through three more large doors and winding corridors all but proved my point as my internal sense of direction insisted that we had pulled a U-turn and doubled back towards the chapel again. Only this time, we seemed to be on the opposite side.
Thankfully, the next set of doors were much larger and allowed myself and Lash to pass through while only stooping a little.
We had entered what looked like a grand library. The walls were firmly packed with bookcases, which were, in turn, overflowing with books of all shapes and sizes. Dozens of sturdy ladders of a myriad of sizes were propped against the walls, the tallest allowing access to the shelves that were more than thirty feet off the ground.
Large tables and small writing desks were arranged in neat rows and separated by thick rugs that lined the walkways into and out of the room. I didn’t envy the poor priest that would be tasked with cleaning the rugs after we left.
Morris was standing opposite a tall austere looking man in the garb of a militant priest with the notable addition of a chain hauberk and hood, that was currently lowered. With hair white and thin enough to be in his eighties, the man still carried himself with a certain stubbornness that compensated for the loss of youthful vigour.
“The monster...” The old man grunted, the tensing of his jaw revealing a scar spanning his upper and lower lip.
Morris flinched and glanced my way before directing his full attention back at the old priest, “Abbot, I must insist that the correct level of propriety be observed! The Lord Regent was very clear on this matter!”
The abbot seemed unimpressed. “While our most holy order has a divinely appointed edict to combat the undead, the presence of monsters rankles my aged hide most poorly,” he stated dourly. “However, in these, our darkest days, I would not dare turn away such direly needed assistance awarded by providence.” The abbot’s expression gave the impression that he had bitten into a particularly sour lemon but was otherwise committed to finishing it regardless. “So long as you and yours do not give me a reason otherwise, I will permit your presence within these walls, monster.”
More than a little irritated by the abbot’s arrogance and tone, I very nearly Summoned Orphiel on the spot, just to see the look on his face. Choosing to move past it, for now, I turned my attention to our guide. “Can you show us where we will be staying?” I asked politely, earning looks of surprise from all three humans that were present.
“Ah, of course...” The priest replied in a friendly tone and began leading us back to the door. “You speak Asrusian very well,” he complimented quietly.
“Thank you,” I replied amiably.
Waiting until the doors closed again, the priest began leading us back through the maze of corridors.
“Do you mind if I ask a question?” I asked curiously.
“Ah, by all means, but do you mind if I ask some of my own in exchange?” The priest asked with a barely restrained curiosity of his own.
“That’s fair,” I agreed, “I’m sorry if this is meant to be a secret or something, but why isn’t the cathedral consecrated against the undead?”
The priest winced, “Not a secret, but shameful nonetheless...” The priest was quiet for a few moments as he gathered his thoughts, “When the undead first attacked, we were betrayed from within. The consecration was...defiled...” He shivered and pulled his robes closer as if warding off a bitter winter breeze.
“So why not renew the consecration?” In my mind, the effect was just a more specific Ward, so leaving it inactive was asking for trouble. “Did the person with the Class that performs the Consecration die in the attack?”
The priest shook his head and looked thoroughly dispirited. “We have not had the required Class for performing Consecrations in more than five hundred years...Our order lacks the means of unlocking the required Classes...”
“Do you mind if I ask what the requirements are?” Learning a new Class or two that had specialties in dealing with the undead would be a nice consolation prize for everything that had happened thus far.
“Divinity...” The priest replied dejectedly, “Contact with the messengers of our god...”
“Wait...” I stopped and made sure that the priest was being serious, “You haven't had any sort of contact with your god for more than five hundred years? Why haven’t you shifted your worship to another god instead?” In a world where the gods were real, I would have thought it prudent to worship the god that actually gives the best benefits.
“The gods are...territorial...They will not answer the prayers of those who belong to another, and sacred oaths bind us to those we worship,” the priest seemed resigned to his fate.
“So you joined knowing this would be the case?” I asked, still more than a little confused as to why someone would swear oaths to worship a silent god on pain of death.
“We are recruited as children...” The priest replied quietly, “Most of us were orphans, although some are from families too large to support them. It beats being homeless and living on the streets...”
With a better understanding of what was going on, I answered the priest’s questions in turn. Most of the priest’s questions focused on where we had come from and why we were helping the refugees. I was honest for the most part but kept my true origins out of it. There was no real benefit in telling him, and Jacque had warned against telling too many people.
The priest led Lash and myself to a large stone room that looked like it had once been used for general storage. Our weapons were returned and blankets were provided a short while afterwards before Lash and myself were left to our own devices. The storage room wasn’t far from the first courtyard we entered and I could hear Rikit and her pack being moved into a number of smaller rooms down the hall.
While some might view our separation from the humans as being motivated by fear, I was actually glad to have the Gnolls nearby. In the event of an emergency, we could form a comparatively elite fighting force after only a few moments' notice.
“Do you mind blocking the door?” I asked Lash quietly, “I don’t want to risk anyone overhearing us.”
Lash nodded and dragged the blankets over to the door before bundling herself up and laying down to rest against the door.
Concentrating my mana, I formed an image of the Fallen Angel in my mind and then spoke his name aloud, “Orphiel.”
*Tingalinging*
There was the sound of a faintly ringing bell, then a half-naked man with waist-length golden hair and wearing a loose toga-like robe appeared in front of me. Strumming a lyre, he lazily opened his eyes and began slowly taking in the room. “Who calls upon the holy messenger of Sabriel?...EH?! There’s no one here...” Orphiel’s shoulders slumped, “Awww, I practised a whole speech and everything...”
“Our reception was not exactly stellar, but they have allowed us to stay,” I explained.
Orphiel nodded but made no reply.
“Sabriel? Is that the name of this holy orders god? Or did you make it up?” I asked curiously.
“Hrm?” Orphiel seemed to have recovered, “Sabriel? OH! No, she died ages ago. The humans just kept on worshipping her anyway.”
“Gods can die?” I demanded incredulously.
Orphiel shrugged, “Huh? OH! Sabriel was a Principle Arch-Angel, not a god. It’s the same with all the human’s ‘gods’ or most of them anyway,” he waved dismissively as if it didn’t matter.
“So the priests worship Angels?” I asked uncertainly.
Orphiel nodded and struck a pose like a runway model, “Is it really that difficult to believe? We are perfection personified.”
“So why did you choose Sabriel as your made up patron? Weren’t you worried you would be found out?” I asked warily.
“Hrm?” Orphiel stopped modelling and gave me a wry smile, “Because this is Sabriel’s former territory, or still is I suppose since no one has claimed it. Belief is a powerful thing, just as it can strengthen a warrior's arm, it can blind them to truths that should otherwise be incredibly obvious. Their god is dead, but the priests still haven’t abandoned the temple after all this time,” he shrugged and shook his head, “Desperation and tradition are powerful motivators. So when I say I am Sabriel’s messenger, they don’t really have much of a choice but to believe me.” Orphiel grinned contemptuously and nodded his head in agreement with himself, “That’s how it is.”
“And you wondered why you became a Fallen Angel,” I scolded him.
Orphiel’s brittle ego deflated almost immediately, “She was a Daemon...That was an ordained strike...” He moped with tears forming in his eyes.
“If Sabriel is dead, then does that mean you could....” I tried to think of the right words.
“Take over?” Orphiel suggested, clearly able to see what I was driving at. He shook his head, then paused thoughtfully. “Actually...” Orphiel sat down on the floor and seemed to seriously give it some thought.
Feeling the mana supporting his summons running low, I fed more mana into the connection.
“I would need to study the oaths in question, but...It’s technically possible,” Orphiel admitted tentatively, “Since Sabriel is dead and all...But, I would need to evolve first,” he glanced slyly at me from the corner of his eye.
“Would a title influence your potential evolution?” I asked, ignoring the sly look for now. Not truly a traditional promotion, I would be making Orphiel responsible for the religious organisation. Besides having seen the effects my own title had on my evolution, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for another potential unique evolution.
“A title?” Orphiel seemed shocked. “You mean like an Underlord?” He asked excitedly.
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“For starters,” I agreed, “If you succeed, I will promote you to Overlord of your own Faction.”
Orphiel’s amber eyes grew wide, “Overlord?! My own Faction?!”
I nodded.
“Then I will definitely do it!” Orphiel swore, suddenly becoming incredibly serious and kneeling with his head bowed and hand over his heart.
Even if his motivation was primarily to gain the Overlord title, it would only make Orphiel that much easier to control in the future. Fear of losing his title would make treachery that much more unlikely since it would require an enemy to offer something of equal or greater value.
“You have until tomorrow,” I warned Orphiel before severing the flow of mana.
Just like that, Orphiel disappeared.
Summoning Orphiel had taken about a quarter of my mana, and I had spent close to a third killing Zombies. Deciding it would at least be worth a try summoning Ril, I repeated the process I had used for Orphiel and felt my mana drain close to empty.
*Tingalinging*
Ril appeared in the middle of the room and passively looked around her surroundings before settling her eyes on me. “Mama has been worried,” she stated somewhat coldly while narrowing her inky black eyes, “But it is good to see you are safe.”
Unsure how long Ril’s Summons would last, I did my best to quickly explain what had happened and where we were. She seemed quite surprised by our current location but agreed to try and return when the summons ended. The distance was not inconsiderable, but it still roughly equated to less than traversing from the first floor to the third in terms of mana expenditure.
Sure enough, Ril’s Summons lasted only a few minutes before running out of mana.
After around twenty minutes or so, Ril reappeared in the room with both Toofy and Kestrel in tow.
“TIM!” Toofy scrambled up my leg and chest before firmly wrapping her arms around my neck, “No run away!” She scolded tearfully, “No scare Toofy!”
“Sorry Toofy,” I apologised and hugged her back gently, “I didn’t mean to leave, I promise.”
Toofy mumbled something unintelligible while wiping snot on my neck.
Ril just watched with a look on her face that seemed to say, “It’s your fault, so bear with it.”
Kestrel was uncomfortably making a point of looking just about anywhere else, settling on staring at an empty corner of the room.
Toofy quickly tired herself out and I carefully handed her over to Lash so she could snuggle beneath the blankets.
“Do you think you can take us back with you?” I asked Rill a little nervously.
“I could,” Ril replied somewhat impassively, “By stopping at the royal castle and using the gateway there, it makes the gateways bear the load. Travelling between the human cities here on the outside is not very draining at all.”
“Um, about that,” Kestrel interjected awkwardly, “High command was hoping you might stay and allow Ril to establish another Gateway, here in the city I mean.”
I turned back to Ril, “How long would that take?”
“Depending on materials...” Ril rubbed her chin with her webbed fingers, “Maybe two days as long I am allowed to concentrate. There is too little ambient mana to recharge as I normally would...”
“And you will need to recover afterwards as well?” I assumed based on previous experience.
Ril nodded.
With the Mothers Moon growing ever closer, I was inclined to tell the Regent he could suck it. However, I had a responsibility to Rikit’s pack and the other refugees.
The timeline would be tight, but it would work so long as nothing went horribly wrong. Unfortunately, the gathering mana would serve as a beacon for the undead and draw them in greater numbers as time passed. The Ward would be able to protect most of the Cathedral, but not all of it. Then there was the possibility of Variants invading the cathedral as well. It stood to reason that there would be Variants amongst the undead, albeit in much smaller numbers than the living. Although that raised an uncomfortable question. Would a conversion type of undead, like a Plague Zombie, make Variant Zombies of itself a Variant?
Making the gateway would now require the cooperation of the priests, so if Orphiel was unable to bring them onto our side then the plan would be scrapped outright.
After unblocking the door again, Kestrel excused herself under the pretence of contacting Morris and relaying further orders from the Regent.
Briefly leaving the room myself, I did my best to explain to Rikit that we would be making a gateway to evacuate the city. She didn’t quite understand what I was talking about but seemed excited by the prospect of leaving the city.
When I returned to our room I found Toofy was already asleep and Ril was dozing in a large barrel of Grove water that Toofy must have been keeping in her extradimensional space. Lightly dozing herself and with Toofy in her arms, Lash’s eyes flashed as I opened the door and made my way inside.
Laying down beside them, I kept one foot pressed against the door. If anyone tried to enter while we slept, they would need to make quite a bit of noise displacing my weight first.
I slept little but didn’t dream at all, so I considered it a plus overall. Better to have no dreams and no nightmares after hacking apart Zombies all day. Briefly checking my status, I was not particularly surprised to find I had only regenerated two points of mana for each hour of sleep, leaving me with twelve in mana total.
Getting up, I quietly made my way outside and headed for the temporary latrines they had built over a grating that connected to the sewer. Besides myself and a few guardsmen, no one else seemed to be awake yet. However, on my way back to our room I heard what sounded like gregorian chanting coming from the large doors to the chapel. Waiting and listening outside of the door for a while, I figured that the priests were likely engaging in the equivalent of midnight mass.
My mother had never been a particularly religious person, but she had made sure I was at least aware of them in case I ever decided it was something I wanted to participate in. It hadn’t, of course, but it still left me with a general idea of what to expect.
Returning to our room, I laid back down next to Lash and tried to think of how I could make best use of this new information. While my initial intention had been to Summon Orphiel into the priest's presence, it also involved me taking credit for doing so. The general idea being to set myself up as a sort of messenger of the messenger to the gods. Involved enough not to be messed with, but not involved enough for people's expectations to get crazy. However, I now believed it would be more effective in the long term to try and limit my perceived involvement.
My general thinking was that by having Orphiel seemingly appear of his own accord, that it would pander into the unrequited faith of the priests. This in turn would give Orphiel a better shot at hijacking Sabriel’s already established network of militant priests.
With the established hostility between Angels and Daemons, I wanted a buffer against future hostilities that would almost certainly break out by virtue of association. Sabriel’s rudderless and unbacked Azure Order just about perfectly fit that bill. Granted, some restructuring might be in order to make sure the new leadership was more pliable, but that would be Orphiel’s responsibility.
As the hours began passing by, I carefully kept an eye on my mana and waited. If my assumptions were correct, then the priests would engage in morning mass and allow another opportunity to introduce Orphiel. If I was wrong, then I would need to be more creative.
Hearing voices coming from outside, I got up and decided to investigate.
Some of Rikit’s pack had left their rooms and were investigating their surroundings. Judging by the distressed looks on their faces and how they were whimpering, I could only assume that they needed to relieve themselves.
Convincing the Gnolls to follow me to the latrine was simple enough but I had to insist that they use a bucket of water from a barrel to wash away their excrement afterwards. Their prolonged diet of leather and rotten hides had done them no favours, and the last thing I wanted was to give the priests an excuse to try and kick us out.
Confident that the Gnolls would be able to take care of themselves for a little longer, I decided to wait in the courtyard so I could see when the priests gathered in the chapel again.
After about a half-hour of waiting, the bells in the belltowers began ringing to signal the dawn. Shortly afterwards, refugees began trailing in from the surrounding passageways and heading for the chapel. From what I could see, the priests had already gathered and were engaged in prayer, occupying the frontmost pews while the abbot waited atop the pulpit.
Waiting until the doors to the chapel were closed, I moved closer and began concentrating my mana.
The priests had begun chanting a hymn, so I decided to wait until they stopped in order to have the greatest dramatic effect. Assuming I would need line of sight in order to perform the summoning, I peeked through the gap between the chapel doors and waited. As the chanting died down and the abbot raised his hands to address the congregation, I realised that this would be my best opportunity.
*Tingalinging*
Seeing the look of shock and surprise on the abbot’s face was priceless, but I quietly made my way back to our room so as to avoid any suspicion of my involvement. Not all of the priests attended the morning mass, some of them were still on guard by the main doors and who knows where else that I wasn't aware of. So playing it safe was definitely the way to go.
I funnelled Orphiel as much mana as I could spare, but it wasn’t much. Orphiel had progressed his evolution slightly but hadn’t managed to reach his next major evolution yet. I was not particularly concerned since Orphiel was likely to recruit a number of Pact Binders or Summoners as a result of our little stunt in the chapel. As such, he would be able to leach raw mana in a similar fashion to the Daemons. Or at least that is what I assumed would happen.
Shortly after Orphiel’s summons was terminated, the bells of the cathedral began ringing in earnest. Unlike the mournful calls to mass, the tune had a certain excitement and air of celebration to it.
The ringing of the bells continued for almost an hour and all but guaranteed just about every Zombie in the city would be headed this way. In a sense, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Culling the lesser undead would mean greater safety for the district overall. The problems would come from dealing with so many at once.
Leaving Lash to keep an eye on Toofy and Ril, I made my way back outside to the courtyard.
The refugees had tears of joy in their eyes as they spoke of the Angel that had appeared amongst them to answer their prayers.
Despite the general atmosphere of celebration, I noticed that the militant priests were hurrying about with worried looks in their eyes.
Wanting to confirm the situation for myself, I carefully climbed up and out of the courtyard before heading for the northern wall. Even before reaching the wall, I could hear the droning moans and ragged growls of the undead gathered outside. What was worse was the smell.
Standing atop the wall and looking down at the road below, I found so many undead milling about the road that I was unable to catch more than brief glimpses of the flagstones beneath their rotten ragged feet. There were so many Zombies that it seemed pointless to attempt counting them. There had to be tens of thousands of them at least, very likely more.
On the upside, I was no longer worried about the Gateway luring large numbers of Undead to the cathedral. At this point, it would be practically impossible to notice any real difference. However, the hordes of Zombies made it extremely difficult to follow the movements of the Crypt Stalkers lurking in their ranks, and culling the undead by the walls would inevitably provide a putrid ramp for the Crypt Stalkers to climb up onto the walls.
I made a mental note to instruct the Gnolls not to target any Zombies close to the walls. I was reasonably confident that the guardsmen would know better without the need to be told, but Gnolls were rather excitable and could get carried away sometimes.
All the same, it would be better to have Rikit’s pack begin thinning the ranks of undead sooner rather than later. With the Crypt Stalkers already making the most of the cover provided by the Zombie hordes, it was entirely possible for something more powerful to do the same.
Carefully climbing back to the courtyard, I realised that my climb had garnered more attention than I was comfortable with. Specifically, it was the militant priests that seemed particularly displeased by my clambering up and down the walls of the cathedral.
However, Morris hurried over to speak with me before any of them was able to work up the nerve to do anything more than glare.
“My Lord! There has been a great miracle! An Angel has descended to answer our prayers!” Despite not being on good terms with the abbot, it didn’t seem to dampen Morris’s excitement over Orphiel’s sudden appearance.
“I have heard as much,” I hedged tactfully.
“Some of the novitiates have even unlocked special Classes! They are testing them inside of the training hall right now!” Given the sheer rarity of Class availability outside of the Guilds and military, it was understandable that Morris would be so excited. “In fact-” He leaned in conspiratorially, “Those of us who attended morning mass have unlocked Classes as well!” Morris whispered excitedly.
For some reason, I hadn’t expected that. Orphiel had never unlocked any Classes for the monsters in Sanctuary before, so it was a little odd that he would be able to do so now.
Bringing up Captain Morris’s list of unlocked classes, I confirmed that he now qualified for the Summoner, Pact Binder, Acolyte and Paladin in addition to those he had unlocked already.
“Ah, so...I was wondering, your Lordship, if it would be alright if you could issue another quest so the men can quickly level up their new Classes,” Morris asked quietly.
“I thought I already told you that you could administer quests on your own?” I replied with a little uncertainty before trying to think back on what exactly I had told Captain Morris before promoting him.
Morris’s eyes grew wide for a moment before he respectfully shook his head, “Apologies, I must have forgotten, my Lord,” he lied tactfully.
Captain Morris, and all of his subordinates, were members of the Kingdom of Asrus Faction, specifically their Capital. So the Regent was technically able to deny any quests Morris might try to create, not that I thought he would in the present circumstances.
Sparing a few minutes to quietly explain how the quests worked and how to distribute them, I also let Morris know about the sheer numbers of undead now waiting outside of the cathedral. News of the undead soon sent him running to gather his guardsmen and begin thinning the hordes. However, I made sure to stop him and convince him to wait for Rikit and her pack before heading for the walls.
Without Morris’s help, they would have a hard time being granted permission to access the battlements that would give them the best positions to attack the undead. Despite his concerns over the undead, Morris agreed to wait.
This was, of course, for the best given the sheer number of undead that needed to be culled. The fact that Ril’s binding of the gateway was going to agitate the hell out of them only made it even more important to have as many watchful eyes up on the walls as possible.
Convincing Rikit and her pack to cull the undead from atop the walls was not difficult at all. In fact, the only compromise Rikit negotiated for was to keep the besieged resource quest active. Given that I had no intentions of cancelling the quest anytime soon, it was an easy enough promise to make.
The Gnolls' protracted starvation had left them understandably anxious regarding sourcing their future meals. This only intensified when the supplies were taken by the priests upon our arrival at the cathedral.
Besides reassuring Rikit that the quest would remain active, I also did my best to explain that we would be leaving using magic in a couple of days and headed for Sanctuary. This left Rikit understandably curious, but she didn’t press for more details.
Returning to our room, I found Ril concentrating on a neatly aligned circle of mana stones. Just by looking at the general layout, I assumed that she was doing prep work for establishing the Gateway. Or rather, I hoped it was.
Even though Lash had not said anything, I suspected that she had given up on our chances of returning to Sanctuary in time for the Mothers Moon. The possessive way Lash was holding Toofy and stroking her hair made it rather obvious that children were on her mind, so her lack of anger and anxiety made me feel that much more irritable.
With so many undead outside, being personally involved in the cull was just impractical. Similarly, with Morris leading the Guardsmen in his own retinue, and with Rikit in my own, there wasn’t much else I could do to indirectly help either. All the same, my Exp continued to climb higher with every passing moment. So long as a kill qualified that subordinate to an Exp reward, I would receive a portion of that Exp. This meant that Zombies outside were contributing to my Exp despite the fact that if I killed them myself I would otherwise receive nothing.
While I enjoyed spending time with Lash, Toofy being uncharacteristically well behaved left me surprisingly desperate for a distraction or some form of entertainment. Toofy seemed content enough with using Lash’s chest as a pillow while drowsily chewing on dried meat. However, the narrow-eyed glances she was giving me every so often suggested an ulterior motive than comfort.
All the same, it was something of a relief when Kestrel returned. Judging by the deeply conflicted and sceptical look on her face, I could tell that the Regent’s latest batch of requests was bound to be whoppers.
“Um...Tim...” Kestrel seemed to be really struggling with whatever she was here to say. “The Lord Regent, he wants to know if...That is...” Kestrel rapidly lost steam and let out a deep sigh before shaking her head, “Of course, it’s impossible, but...” She resignedly forced herself to make eye contact, “The Lord Regent asked me to confirm whether you were responsible for summoning an Angel.”
Of all the questions I expected her to ask, that was not one of them. Although in hindsight I realised that I should have expected it. The Regent wasn’t a complete idiot, and his position in Sanctuary’s overall hierarchy entitled him to certain information. Knowing this, it wasn’t completely unrealistic for him to make an assumption like this. “I did,” I admitted somewhat dismissively, trying to play it off as if it wasn’t that big of a deal.
“Of course,” Kestrel nodded sighed in relief, “To be able to summon an Angel? That would...be...” Her eyes grew wide, “Wait...I think I didn’t quite hear you properly...Did you just say you summoned the Angel?!”
*****
Lounging in his ‘throne’ above the canopy of the Grove, Orphiel’s smug sense of accomplishment in diverting his fallen kin’s worshipers began to fade as new memories began flooding his mind. Orphiel was not a fighter, and to make things worse, the Pact Binders were not high enough level to replicate any of his painstakingly designed equipment. Naturally, this meant that his summoned copies did not perform well in combat against the overwhelming numbers of undead.
While his believers did not feel disappointed, they had begun coming up with excuses on his behalf, which was not a particularly good sign either.
Gulping down another Elixir eased the mounting burden of the negative emotions aggregating in his mind. All the same, Orphiel suspected that more drastic measures were now necessary in order to cement his control over his new believers.
Stripping his breastplate and robes, Orphiel drew his dagger and traced it along his chest. Guided as much by instinct as imprinted memories, he still winced in pain as the blade bit into his flesh and sent shimmering copper coloured blood streaming down his side.
Dropping the knife, Orphiel gulped down another Elixir to numb his pain as he inched his fingers closer to the open wound. Taking one final deep breath, Orphiel plunged his hand inside of his own rib cage and took a firm hold of his second-lowest rib.
*Crunch*
Pulling the broken rib free of his chest, Orphiel channelled what little Divinity he had gathered thus far into performing a pair of very limited Miracles. First, the wound in Orphiel’s side stitched itself closed and left a bright amber scar. Second, the rib removed from his chest began regenerating a whole new body.
Unfortunately, in addition to depleting all of his limited supply of Divinity, the second Miracle had exacted a price from his Evolution as well, all but reversing his progress over the past twenty-four hours.
In under a minute, Orphiel found a near-perfect copy of himself staring back at him. With the primary exception that his copy was female and lacked his recently acquired scar, the second Fallen Angel was otherwise a perfect copy.
Very much aware that his copy was in a deeply impressionable state, Orphiel decided it would be best to strike while the iron was hot. Establishing a mental link, Orphiel laid the groundwork for his copy’s personality, emphasising an intense desire and enjoyment of combat while encouraging rigid obedience to hierarchy. After all, the last thing Orphiel wanted was to be supplanted by his own copy.
With the window of opportunity to finalise her primary motivations closing, Orphiel hastily made a few finishing touches before assigning her a name and severing the mental connection.
Orphiel’s copy, Ophelia, slowly opened her eyes and rose to a sitting position. Looking her body over with intense curiosity, Ophelia briefly closed her eyes and replaced her nakedness with a long knee-length shimmering copper coloured tunic and belt. Shakily getting to her feet like a newborn deer, Ophelia turned her large doe-like eyes to Orphiel.
“Weak,” Ophelia stated forlornly with tears gathering in her eyes, “I am too weak...”
Orphiel’s prepared speech momentarily slipped his mind in the wake of his creation’s unexpected emotional breakdown.
“Father!” Ophelia took a trembling step towards him and then lost her balance, tripping and falling to her knees, “Why am I so weak?! Am I not created to serve as thine righteous sword of vengeance?! So why?! Why?! Why curse my body with such fragility and anemicy?!”
Orphiel couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. Ophelia had his exact same stats barring those afforded by his Class. “Weakness is a path to true strength!” Orphiel declared, brazenly lying to his not even hour old daughter’s face, “Those who are born strong have no appreciation for the strength they gain! But you! My dearest daughter, will become stronger than them all!”
“Father!” Ophelia bowed her head in respectful reverence, “I won’t let you down!”
“Good!” Orphiel rose off his throne and helped raise Ophelia to her feet, “Come with me child, there is one I would have you meet.”
Holding Ophelia’s hand, he guided her through the process of manifesting her wings and then began their descent into the Grove.
As expected, the red-haired battlejunky was taking a break by the fountain after performing her morning exercises. However, neither she nor her giant lizard looked particularly happy to see them. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true, the redhead was very nearly ambivalent to Ophelia’s presence, if somewhat curious. “What do you want?” She demanded curtly, crossing her tanned mannish arms over her chest.
“You da-” Ophelia stiffened and her beautiful face contorted in rage.
“Be silent,” Orphiel chastised her, before turning back to the human and keeping a wary eye on the lizard, “I would ask a favour of you,” he admitted bluntly, “Although I am inclined to believe you will no doubt enjoy it all the same.”
The redhead raised an eyebrow sceptically, “And what’s that?” She demanded.
“Training,” Orphiel replied simply, “Ophelia wishes to become stronger, and I could think of no one more experienced in increasing their own strength through training.” It was less a compliment and more a statement of fact. Other humans exercised, but none of them pushed themselves as hard as the redhead did.
“Ophelia?” The redhead briefly glanced at Ophelia before scowling at Orphiel again, “And where did, Ophelia, come from?” She asked warily.
Orphiel decided things would progress more smoothly if he kept things simple. “Ophelia is my daughter, and she wishes to train in order to become stronger.”
The redhead eyed Ophelia sceptically, “What will you give me as payment?”
Orphiel was silent for a few moments as he considered what would be an acceptable bribe. “What about an Exp Elixir?”
The redhead stiffened, “You have access to those?” She asked warily.
Orphiel grinned and nodded. While they were technically meant to be for his personal use in order to evolve into a more powerful form, tithing the mana offerings made to Ophelia would be much more efficient in the long term. “I was given permission by Tim himself.”
Licking her lips the red head’s expression turned downright predatory, “One Elixir per point of Strength and Toughness,” she demanded, “And five more if I help her unlock an Advanced Class!”
“Deal!” Orphiel agreed and nudged Ophelia forwards. “We can settle the payment at the same time each morning.”
“Deal,” the redhead agreed, shoving Ophelia roughly to the ground, “We’ll start with pushups!”
Orphiel stepped back and glided up onto a branch that was well out of the way but otherwise afforded a clear vantage of the Grove below.
Grimacing as another summoned instance of himself asserted its memories in his mind, Orphiel made sure to prioritise awarding future summons to Ophelia. With half of all tributes taken as a tithe for himself, Orphiel was relatively confident that the arrangement combined with Ophelia’s loyalty conditioning would ensure his continued primacy.
With his position in the new hierarchy assured, Orphiel turned his attention to expanding his influence. With an Overlord title and Faction came the expectation of subordinates. While Tim had not stated as such, it was painfully obvious to Orphiel that he was expected to formally recruit his newly acquired followers into the fold. In doing so, he would increase Tim’s influence over them, but also provide Orphiel with another indirect means of communicating with his followers through the quest interface.
All things considered, it was now his highest priority. Sensing an incoming summons, Orphiel accepted it himself rather than deferring it to Ophelia. If possible, he would use this summons as an opportunity to begin formally recruiting to his Faction and laying the groundwork for Ophelia’s future interventions.
Diminished while his avatar answered the summons, Orphiel retreated to his throne above the canopy. Creating Ophelia had been necessary, but weakening himself left Orphiel feeling incredibly vulnerable. This feeling only intensified whenever he recalled the fact that the Daemons had him significantly outnumbered. While they made a show of obeying Tim’s every command to the letter, Orphiel could feel their hatred every time they crossed paths with one another.
Orphiel could only hope that as Ophelia grew stronger the Daemons would be forced to think twice before picking a fight when Tim wasn’t looking.