Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 39: Road Trip

By the time Valens was done with the wounded, it had started raining outside. Large droplets pounded against the canvas of the tent like solid stones, dripping in streams and oozing silently underneath the earth. Mud and the fresh smell of the empty forest filled the opening.

All in all, he was satisfied with the result. One of his best efforts, to his thinking, if he were to dismiss the number of men who died before they got a chance to crawl into his tent.

“There’s a reason why they are called Priests, not Healers,” Valens said as he and Celme stared out into the dark night from inside the tent. Garran lounged lazily outside, golden armor shining round the dreary black of the stretch, seemingly not too bothered by the rain washing off him in waves. “Slouchy fools clad in the shell of their religious order. How easy it is to garner some respect in this world, one has to wonder.”

“You’re doing it again,” Celme said, more relieved than spent by the long hours that went into the work. “Talking as though you’re not from this world.”

“What if that was the case?” Valens asked, curious. “You’ve people who can command the dead here. Armies of undead being forged in some place called Underworld even as we speak. Ninth Legion, was it? I’ll miss Nomad and his antiques. There was something soothing about that man.”

“Stop!” Celme held a finger up to his lips, sneaking a glance at Garran. “Don’t mention anything about the Rift. You’d promised you’d keep it secret.” Celme then tilted her head back. “And we are not in the Broken Lands. People aren’t used to fighting the monsters of Shadow here.”

“Oh?” Valens asked, intrigued. “When were you planning on telling me that you belonged to a secret cult? That’s what this is, right? That’s why you’re all acting as though you worship this Golden Sun or what’s his face. And this Zodros–”

Celme glared at him hard, which promptly shut Valens’s mouth as he didn’t want to stir any trouble here. He was just curious.

“Fine,” he said, going back to the earlier topic. “If people here are not used to fighting the monsters, what do they do, then?”

“They live,” Celme said fiercely. “Blissful in their ignorance. They like things as they are. That’s why you don’t see nobles rallying people for the common effort. No, they fancy their balls and jewels, the painted walls of their mansions and ever-bright halls of opulence too much to do anything that would change that. So long as the battle is being fought by the valiant, they are happy to remain in their cities.”

“Of course they are,” Valens said. He was beginning to form the root of an idea of such a society, as the Empire had worked in similar ways. Though they didn’t have Rifts and monsters and a world broken beyond repair, it seemed to him that there wasn’t much difference in mind.

I might have to dig deep. Can’t go around chasing monsters all the time. Stats and levels are important, but I’m here for the truth of it. I need to learn about the culture. See if there’s any wise Magi that could help me, too.

That, and this ominous Trial that appeared the moment he’d become a Level 100 Arcane Healer. He checked it once again.

[Trial of the Arcane Healer - I]: She watches from the depths of the crimson waves, her court silent and waiting. Neigh is the time she’s meant to awaken, but one must silence the whispers before they become a scream.

It was something of a riddle, as it didn’t outright state what he would have to do or where he would do it in between the lines. Who was this female thing, assuming that it wasn’t a human being of course, and what was she aiming to accomplish with this awakening?

Sounds like an occult summoning. Do they have those sorts of dark arts here?

If so, that meant other than focusing on his stats and skill levels, he had to work on the depths of his repertoire of magical skills as well. Occult magic had been in wide use back in the early days of the Empire, but just like Warmagic and magic of similar nature, it was forgotten and forbidden when the Inquisition usurped the throne.

The old texts scarcely mentioned it, and even Master Eldras in his grand wisdom didn’t know much about it. But as a man who prided himself with the quickness of his mind, Valens could learn a trick or two if he could find enough clues to work with.

New magic. New magic!

A shiver ran down his spine. Valens barely suppressed the smile that threatened to stretch his lips wide. He didn’t want to come out as a maniac who started barking out laughs with his hands bloody and a tent that seemed eerily like a torture chamber behind his back.

“You’re done here, Healer?” came a voice as Valens reached for Apathy to steel his mind.

“We’re all done here, Lightmaster,” he said with a strict voice. The Lightmaster was covered in a shell of blinking lights that kept him dry under the pouring rain, and he was coming at them with a scowl on his face, coming at them as if he’d sunk his teeth into something nasty and was smarting from it. “If you wish I can check you—”

“There’s no need,” the Lightmaster said and stepped inside the tent with a sorry-looking Marcus in tow. The poor man was soaked wet from tip to toe, strands of hair sticking to his face in thick clumps. Deathly pale, as usual, which wasn’t surprising considering the vomiting fit he’d gone through earlier. The Lightmaster closed the flaps behind him as though to keep Garran outside before he started, “We have to talk. There is an unexpected complication.”

“You mean the Templars,” Valens said.

“The Captain rightfully suspects that you were in the Rift with the rest of the guild,” the Lightmaster gave him a hard look. “That we hired you for the job. It’s against the treaty.”

“He mentioned something along those lines,” Valens said. “What is that treaty, if I might ask? Some sort of contract binding you with the misfortune of having to rely on the services of those Priests?”

“Not just us, but all the Guilds,” Celme said from the side. “It’s against the law to hire a Healer for the Melton-registered companies.”

“There has to be a reason behind that,” Valens scowled, rubbing his chin.

“There is,” the Lightmaster said gravely. “And it’s a good one.”

“Oh?” Valens asked. “I can’t wait to hear—”

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“We don’t have time to quench the embers of curiosity burning in your eyes, Healer. Captain’s team will accompany you to the capital, and there is nothing we can do to change that.” He turned to Marcus, face creasing, before he gave a nod to Celme. “You two will take the Riftshard to the court. Meet with Sarek to see about this other deal. My Brother should learn that we are ready to move on. I’ll be waiting at the Fort.”

“Master… I don’t think it’s a good idea to let them take Valens. If they learn—”

“What would you have me do, child?” the Lightmaster said to her. “You’re standing up for a man who shouldn’t even be here in the first place, and it’s too late to kill him. We must remember the teachings during such times. We have to remember that we can’t control fate and its currents. End of the discussion.”

Celme lowered her chin. “I understand,” she said. “I will see to it.”

“Good,” the Lightmaster said, and glanced at Valens. “You have nothing to fear if what you’ve told us is true. They will do a check on you to see if you’re of that traitor’s cult, and will further question your motives here. I’ve said that you’ve happened to be passing through this particular path when we were done with the Rift. A stranger offering his help for free of any charges. Die on that hill even if they force you.”

“What are the odds?” Valens smiled. “I’ve told them the same thing.”

“Clever kid. But you might want to keep that Inferno hidden in your sleeves. We all have wounds that are still fresh and need nursing, and this is more so the case with divine orders. They would be waiting for any sign to have you dangling down the walls. Don’t give them any excuses, and don’t mention anything about our Order and the undead. My Brother might be a magnanimous King, but he won’t spare you if you spoil his plans.”

“While I appreciate the gesture, Lightmaster, I think I can manage on my own,” Valens pulled his hand up, finger pointed at Garran lounging outside. “I daresay I could charm my way into those men’s hearts. But for this once I’ll oblige, since I’ve little interest in breathing the dust of some backwater fort, assuming that you don’t have the greatest of fortresses at your disposal?”

“Barely a keep,” Celme muttered, then shut her mouth when the Lightmaster glared at her.

“Indeed,” Valens smiled. “So, I’ll take the offer. You can trust me. And where else but the capital can you begin to pry into the details that show a nation’s own special touches, eh? I can’t wait.”

“Special classes. Never met with one that’s not crooked in some way or the other,” the Lightmaster sighed tiredly. “Just don’t go around healing people in the capital. Lord knows we don’t have enough Priests for the poor, but things are scarcely about the well-being of the people in this kingdom.”

“That, I can’t do,” Valens shrugged. “Helping anyone in need is a quality I haven’t yet decided to forego. I might keep at it for a while just to see about the odd cases I may chance across. Any other tips for me? Twisted monsters or other horrors I should be informed about?”

“You can ask her,” the Lightmaster said, nodding at Celme. “She’s from the capital.”

“Was,” Celme corrected him. “And I’d thought I would never have to return to that damned place.”

“We have to learn how to deal with the unexpected, child,” the Lightmaster reached with a hand and squeezed Celme’s shoulder fondly. “Handle the Riftshard, and get back to me. Then I’ll take you to the Broken Lands for your Trials. The real battle awaits us there beyond sight, and we must prepare. The end is near.”

“The end is near,” Celme nodded, and watched as the Lightmaster stepped out of the tent.

…..

Rows of carriages lined the path sloping downward, a heap of wood and snorting horses breathing in the foggy air of the dark. The ground was slick with rain, mud sticking to the tips of Valens’s bare feet as he strolled with both hands clasped behind his back. A new robe was prepared and tucked in the case Marcus hauled over his shoulders for him, with the Riftshard safely secured inside a gleaming box of marble.

There was something strange about Marcus that he couldn’t understand. Even when he checked his body with a Lifeward, he only found a few signs of dehydration and fatigue. Nothing too serious, which suggested that Marcus here could be smarting from a mind issue.

We all have our demons.

“Heavy, isn’t it?” Valens then asked to get his mind off grim topics. He was met with a snort from Celme in return. “Right,” he smiled. “You have crazy bones and muscles, I forgot.”

Stats changed a man in ways that defied scientific knowledge. A magical point into the unknown, then you’d have your bones and tendons strengthened with the nursing of mana, which gave birth to supernatural humans.

Valens would need more time to adjust to that fact.

The captain and his team of sacred warriors waited for them down by the road, four men in total, clearly separated from the runt of the Duality Guild by not only the glamour of their carriage but also the size of their horses as well. The beasts were all clad in the same golden armor, which made it hard to tell them apart from their carriage. But then, through the Resonance, Valens caught the frequencies of the carriage and learned, much to his surprise, that the similarity between them was merely a play of colors.

“That carriage isn’t entirely made out of gold,” he muttered with a finger pointed at them. Then, he scowled when his sound vision picked up the frequencies of the horses. “But those are… truly something else, I have to admit.”

[Ironmane - Level 55]

[Ironmane - Level 56]

Guess I shouldn’t have expected to see normal horses here.

Glorious manes reflected the occasional moonlight spilling through the clouds, shining like thousands of stars that beckoned Valens for a tap. They looked softer than a baby’s fontanelle and smooth as though cared for by a maid on night duty.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Celme said, fixing him with a glare. “Ironmanes are special horses. They choose their own Masters, and they don’t like strangers.”

“Why, I’m not a stranger at all!” Valens said. He looked down at his robe and breathed in his own stench. The rain did a manageable job at washing it off of him, but still, the rot lingered by his legs. “Perhaps another time, then. When I’m clean and in a more presentable state.”

There was an extension strapped to the carriage, fitted with four wheels upon which stood a tightly barred cage made out of a strong alloy. What was beyond those bars was hidden from sight, but the frequencies oozing from the gaps stabbed at the Resonance with such force that Valens had to steady himself with a hand over Celme’s shoulder.

“There’s…” he breathed, fingers shaking as he tried to wrap his mind around these new tunes. Dark and twisted, of life that was unborn, of muscles and bones that didn’t quite fit into anything he knew. The skin outlining its figure was deathly pale, with long, black hair dancing wildly about, nails as sharp and long as miniature spears, and jagged teeth dripping with nasty pus. A woman’s figure, fluctuating like sound waves in his vision, never quite settling on a true form. “A ghost?”

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That doesn’t make any sense.

Yet his skin prickled with invisible dread as he neared it. Whatever it was that was caged underneath those bars was trying to reach him through a trick of magic that seemed to be searching for a way to seep in but was cut sharply before the effort could find any purchase. Almost like a breath, now Valens thought about it, one that had a certain range.

“Healer, get on. We have a long way before us,” the captain of the sacred guards flashed him a little smile, jerking a thumb back at the carriage. Celme and Marcus dragged themselves silently inside, leaving Valens standing there all alone.

“Am I the only one who can feel that abomination trapped in this cage?” Valens asked indignantly but couldn’t help himself as he moved over to the cage. “Mind if I take a look, miss—”

“Stop!” the captain yelled, reached forth, and yanked him by the arm, glaring him down with dagger-like eyes. “Are you mad? We’ve got a Wailborn in there! Get back if you don’t want your brain sucked out by its promises!”

“A Wailborn?” Valens arched an eyebrow at the name. “Another magical creature, then? But she seems like she could use some help--”

“Horrors of Shadow don’t present themselves in their usual forms here, Healer. You ought to know that. Here, they wear our skin to do the Tainted Father’s bidding. Now, get inside the carriage. We’ll burn her quick in daylight.”

The captain huffed his way inside the carriage while Valens lingered outside for a second longer. He glanced over the cage one more time to see if he could catch anything, but other than the atypical shift in the frequencies, there was nothing tugging at his interest.

Another new find. I might have to get myself a diary to note these things down. Master would be curious to hear every single one of it.

He got inside the carriage, and the whips cracked in the dead of the night, the Ironmanes roaring forth on all fours.