The laughter bubbled up in Truth from the bottom of his belly, tickling his guts and squeezing his lungs. What could he do but laugh? He wanted to fight a higher reality entity that was compounding the torture of humanity inflicted by a literal stellar eminence, all while God disdained to look on. There would be no miracles. There would be no divine intervention.

He was a guy with a sword. A thug with a spell and delusions of grandeur. A rat can bite a cat, but he needs somewhere to stand and fight, right? What do you do when the ground you stand on is one enemy, and the other is beyond your reach?

Only a fool would fight under those conditions. Only a fool would take that fight rather than running all the way to Siphios and Etenesh.

Well. Fine. He could be the fool a little longer. He would be the silly rat that forgot what good rats know and try to live instead like a human. Accepting “natural” stress, ignoring or avoiding the unnatural.

“It occurs to me that the higher you cultivate, the fewer of those stresses, natural and otherwise, apply. You don’t need to eat as much, not as worried about shelter, or sleep. Even old age is less of a thing.” Truth said, once he could speak again.

“True. And don’t forget fertility. Higher level cultivators have superb control over their own reproductive capability. It’s why you don’t see cultivator clans running the world. The higher level cultivators basically can’t be bothered to reproduce anymore.” The Abbot agreed.

“I don’t suppose you know how to have a polite conversation with the eminence of this planet?”

“No. I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for the person who would know.” The Abbot’s antlers swished through the air violently.

“Any idea how to chain down and fight a higher dimensional spirit?”

“With another higher dimensional spirit? Sorry.”

Ah well. It had been a long shot.

“No worries. That discreet place to make a call?”

“You can borrow my communication altar. If it becomes a problem, I will just say you stole it. But kindly do not transmit from here. If you will permit me, I will lead you to a discreet place. One that is hard to surveil.”

“Oh? Not sending a little brother?” Truth asked.

“No, I would rather remain your hostage.” That brought an awkward pause to the conversation.

“Ah, you know, even before we chatted, I wasn’t going to hurt anyone here.”

“Mmm. I believe you. And yet, I think we will both be happier if I am close by.” The Abbot seemed indifferent.

“We both will?”

“Yes. You will feel more secure, and therefore less likely to take ‘regrettable but necessary’ steps. By putting myself in a little more danger, I spare my brethren and myself a great deal more danger.”

Truth laughed softly. “Odd how that works sometimes. Alright, let me grab my bag and I’m ready to go when you are.”

“I packed some food, just in case you need something to eat.” The Abbot stood. “A good breakfast brightens up the whole day.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The abbot was quick on his feet. They moved through the woods silently, the monk’s robe not so much as flapping in the wind. Quickly, gently, barely bending the grass with their steps. Truth enjoyed running through the woods. It felt freeing. He didn’t have to pretend to be “normal.” That his body was the same as everyone else's.

He supposed the demon would know a lot more about that than he would, but he didn’t want to disturb the silence by asking. He would just enjoy feeling his body move through the forest. Playing the fool. Playing the hero. Playing the ascetic, or the mystic wanderer. Becoming a person without thought, and only existing through their body.

He stretched his arms upward, smiled, and leapt off a rock for the sheer joy of it. Why not? He would call Merkovah and lay it all out, and if the old monster disagreed, he was free to come here and yell at him.

“Over here.” The Abbot had elected to carry the altar. It’s not that Truth wasn’t strong enough, it’s just that his arms weren’t long enough to make carrying convenient. The demon set down the altar in a little rocky nook, surrounded by mature trees.

“This spot is where we buried the peaceable Holy Child. Odd fellow, but an excellent neighbor.”

“Because he never bothered you?” Truth asked.

“We never even saw him, most of the time. He wasn’t hiding. He just didn’t move much beyond his meditation chamber.”

“How did he eat? Before he starved himself to death?”

“I have no idea,” the Abbot shrugged. “We never caught him eating. Our best guess was some form of body cultivation that let him forgo food for long periods.”

Truth nodded. It would be his guess too. “Why should I set up my ritual here in particular?”

“Listen.”

Truth did. It was peaceful. The sounds of the wind in the trees slowly blended into a calming white noise. You didn’t hear much beyond that, but what else did you need?

It took Truth a solid few seconds to realize what was going on.

“The place… what, keeps the noise in? Noise out?”

“No, it isolates attention. Something, somewhere, might catch a trace of your ritual, but unless there is something particularly alarming about it, it will pass unnoticed. I will sit against that tree over there.” The Abbot pointed at a large pine just outside the little clearing. “You can keep an eye on me while you talk.”

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“Sounds good.” Truth nodded, then set up the ritual.

The Abbot settled in and closed his eyes. Truth more or less trusted the demon, but the demon had been very clear about what would happen if anyone asked about Truth. He set up a few privacy wards, just in case. Then a few more. Then a few more on top of that. He might play the Fool, but he’d be damned if he’d act one. Once he had layered everything he could without specialized talisman support, he set up the “fingers crossed it’s actually” secured communication ritual.

It took a few minutes for Merkovah to answer. Which was fair enough.

“Three leopard woodsmoke shrimp shrimp shrimp.” Truth dutifully recited.

“Gaspard requiem noon.” Merkovah’s voice was dry. Tense? Maybe. The countersign was one of the rare ones that actually called for a reconfirmation.

“Seven vector Two One Three berry Ninety Nine.” He had to pick the individual words out of a hat when he memorized them. God above, did he memorize so many things. But it was necessary.

“I genuinely wasn’t sure we would ever speak again.” Merkovah’s voice was quiet.

“I hadn’t a single doubt about it.” Truth’s voice was staunch in reply. The line went quiet for a moment, then-

“Because you were so focused on running and hiding you didn’t bother thinking about the future.”

“Exactly, yes. Great that you are alive, by the way.”

“Why would I be in danger? You are the one in danger.”

“Just generally. You know. Happy you are doing well in these trying times.” Truth was downright blythe.

“Your concern touches me. Which makes me concerned. What are you going to ask that will upset me?”

“Nothing!”

“Oh no?” Merkovah’s voice turned downright dusty.

“Nope.”

There was another pause.

“Because you won’t be asking me, you will be telling me.”

“You truly are an ancient and wise teacher.”

“I wonder. Alright, what is it?”

“I’m quitting the terrorist gig. It sucks, it’s bad for my mental and emotional health, requires insane amounts of naked cross country marathons, and candidly, I can’t imagine topping what I have already achieved.”

“Sorry, did you say ‘naked cross country marathons?’”

“Yes. Hundreds of kilometers of wondering if this is going to be the one random street with a high-level slumming it, as I flop about at speed. Hundreds of kilometers of heavy wagons spraying me with road grit in intimate, tender places. You failed, entirely, to prepare me for the subject of whippy little saplings and the threat they pose to the aspiring international terrorist. Frankly, I feel I was lied to.”

“How? How did I lie to you?” Merkovah was outraged.

“It was a lie of omission. In retrospect, cardio and indecent public displays were strangely absent from all the so-called training. Suspiciously absent. You prayed on my youth and naivety to set me up as a exhibitionist.”

“I preyed on your youth and cynicism to set you up as a damn instrument of vengeance!”

“Don’t try and twist this around on me. I think you enjoy inspiring new fetishes in people. I think that’s your fetish.”

“Young man, do you know how much sex a body can have in six hundred years? I have done all the fetishes. All of them that are not actual crimes. All. Of. Them. Even the ones I knew I would hate. And I did hate them, but after six hundred years, you want to try SOMETHING new. Exhibitionism? I was bored of that before your great-grandfather ten times over was an alarming scrotal twinge.”

The old exorcist must be under a lot of stress, Truth thought. Now, would that be artificial stress or natural stress? Meh.

“Oh? Let me guess. Now you have a fetish for loving-”

“No, stopping you there. I’ve already got Nag Hamadi digging FAR too deeply into my love life, I’m not getting into it with you.”

“So many jokes to work with. How do you leave me hanging like that?”

“Sounds like I’m in… not good company, but company. How’s the breeze where you are?”

“Quite nice, actually. I’m in a quiet place outside Harban. Headed north again.”

“You didn’t get through much of my list. Barely any of it, in fact.”

“True. On the other hand, I would die if I hung around Harban, and let’s face it. How much more damage could I do? And how useful would it actually be to our goal? Say I blew up an apartment building. Which, just so you know, I won’t be doing. But say I did. Does Starbrite even notice? Does the System Astrologica give any more of a damn than it already does?”

Merkovah went silent for a moment. “You are swearing less.”

This time it was Truth who got thrown for a loop. “I am?”

“You are.”

“Oh. I don’t know why.”

“I do. Hmm. North. You want to raid Army Forge.”

“Yes. So why…”

“Oh, I’m not going to tell you. I just don’t want you to feel like I was lying by omission. No need to go to Army Forge. She probably was there, but isn’t now.”

“Oh? Where, then?”

“Everwhite Mountain.”

“Where?” Truth had never heard of such a place.

“Ah… I think in Jeongo it's the Great White Mountain?”

Truth started sputtering. “The national birthplace?!”

“I can assure you-”

“Teacher, I can one hundred percent tell you that not a single person in Jeon cares about the literal truth of the national foundation myth. Not a single one. Anywhere. Top to bottom. Nobody.”

“That’s nice, but what I was actually saying was “I can assure you that multiple, independently verified sources indicate a major research facility has been set up either under Heaven’s Lake in the caldera, or inside the volcano proper. And that there is a great deal of circumstantial evidence which leads us to believe that the Shattervoid girl was moved there.”

“Ah. Right. So. Off I go then.”

“Oh good. I do think we have a few more minor items to go over. Such as why you tried to murder someone even I regard as a living saint.”

“Who?” Truth tried to think, but was drawing a complete blank.

“Doctor Sun Ri. He has personally saved so many children, he was proposed as a separate category in the Jeon’s childhood mortality statistics. ‘Saved by Dr. Sun.’ I must know at least twenty people who were personally saved by him. And saved again by his loving, kind bedside manner.” Merkovah sounded tired and sad. “I am long past trying to sort innocents from villains, but Dr. Sun-”

“Oh we are definitely going to talk about HIM. But first, I had a small, real quick, question. On the subject of murder…”

“Yes?”

“How, exactly, did you expect me to kill the System Astrologica when it exists in a higher dimension?”

There was a short pause. Then-

“How in the Hell did you figure that one out?”