Eternal Master: Path to Godlike Status-Chapter 15: Going With the Flow Part 3

Rain had counted them before the last one cleared the doorway.

Twenty-two.

They filled the common room below with the particular arrogance of numbers—loud, unhurried, spreading out like men who had already decided how this ended. The innkeeper’s boy disappeared behind the counter out of fear.

One of them stepped onto the first stair and shouted up.

"Everyone out. Inn’s closed for the night."

Chairs scraped. Hunters on the lower floor read the room quickly and made the practical decision to leave. No argument. Just the sound of boots and the door swinging twice.

Then it was only the three of them at the upstairs table, and men who surrounded the area.

A figure pushed forward from the back of the group. Rain recognized the face before the man opened his mouth—one of the people he spared.

The man’s finger came up, shaking slightly.

"Boss. That’s him. He’s the one who killed our mages."

The room’s atmosphere drop by several degree.

Beside Rain, Elisa drew a deep breath through her nose. She bit the inside of her lip, something she did when she was feeling uneasy.

"I knew it," she said quietly, mostly to herself. "We should have killed them."

Rain said nothing. He was watching the group with interest.

Seven newcomers entered, all dressed in clean white robes marked with silver symbols over their chests.

Priests. Not the quiet, harmless kind—these were the type who carried weapons along with their faith.

The lead hunter pointed upward again, much braver now.

"That monster is an undead. We saw it with our own eyes—bones moving, flesh coming back. He’s a lich."

Whispers drifted from within the group of holy men.

Elisa stood up.

"That’s a lie." Her voice rang out. "They’re lying. He’s just a traveler, and he helped us when you bastards tried to take advantage of us, after our team was exhausted from hunting down a monster!"

"They’re protecting it," someone shouted in the crowd.

The head priest raised one hand, and the room quieted. He was older, calm in the particular way of men accustomed to being obeyed. He stepped forward from his group and reached into the folds of his robe.

What he produced was a crystal, roughly the size of a closed fist, faceted and clear.

"This measures vitality. Living beings make it glow. The dead cannot trigger a reaction."

He let the implication linger. "If he is what you claim he is, we’ll know. And we’ll act accordingly."

As soon as he finished speaking, the others raised their weapons, making it clear they would attack if Rain failed the test.

"If he is not—" the priest glanced at the hunters who made the accusations, "—then we will hold the other party accountable for speaking lies."

The hunters laughed at that last part, relaxed and careless. They were far too confident about how the crystal would respond.

What they witnessed in the forest could not be explained by anything other than taboo magic—the kind the church hated more than anything.

Rain stood up without any signs of resisting.

He walked forward casually, showing no sign of fear or guilt. In fact, he was smiling, more interested in the crystal than anything else.

"Your hand," the priest spoke.

Rain placed his fingers against the crystal’s surface.

A breath of silence.

Then the crystal ignited.

Not a glow. Not the soft pulse the priest had probably demonstrated a hundred times at border checks and village healings.

It was absolute, filling the room with bright, blinding light. The glow washed the color from every face and cast hard shadows across the far wall.

Someone swore. Several people stepped back instinctively, arms coming up.

Out of nowhere, the crystal cracked and split in the priest’s hands before dropping to the floor, and turning dark as the light died with them.

The head priest stared down at the jagged shards in his palms, his fingers trembling—not with age, but with fear.

Rain retracted his hand, idly rubbing his thumb against his forefinger as if dusting off a stray spark. He looked at the broken pieces, then up at the priest.

"I hope that wasn’t an heirloom," Rain voice was conversational, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a razor. "It seemed... fragile."

"Fragile?" the priest almost broke his composure. "That stone has survived the presence of High Paladins. It has measured the souls of kings. It doesn’t just break."

"Maybe it was too old," he suggested dryly.

"He broke it!" the lead hunter screamed, his voice cracking an octave higher.

"He used some kind of... of dark trick! You saw the light! It wasn’t natural!"

Rain turned his gaze toward the hunter. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. "You said the dead cannot trigger a reaction. I believe I triggered... quite a lot."

Elisa, still standing, let out a breath she has been holding. She looked at the hunters, her lip curling in a sneer.

"So, what was that about accountability, Father?"

The priest didn’t look at the hunters. He didn’t even look at his own men, who were now gripping their maces with white-knuckled uncertainty. He kept his eyes locked on Rain.

"Who—" the priest started, his throat clicking as he swallowed. "What are you?"