An Unwavering Craftsman

After another day in bed, Valerie had set off to the Kingdom of Greenrim, where she'd been born. Shortly after her ceremony of paths, she'd moved to the Holy Theocracy of Jurelli, and had rarely communicated with her homeland. Murill had told her family weren't important compared to the work she could do, and she'd believed her goddess. A mere few minutes observing the interactions of Damien's household without Murill's hand on her reins was enough to show her just how much she'd lost as a result, and she was determined to make up for it.

Not that she'd have the chance to meet her parents; one scrap of information Damien had picked up from her was that her immortality skill didn't differentiate between natural and unnatural death. It didn't matter if Fleta stabbed her through the heart or if she died peacefully in bed of old age, she'd regenerate regardless. Damien hadn't extracted her age, but she'd made it obvious she wasn't expecting anyone she knew before she left to still be alive.

Damien and his family were glad to see her go. As much as Damien felt pity for her, it was still her choice to unquestioningly follow Murill's every whim, and no-one was prepared to leave her alone in their house unguarded. There was always a danger Murill could return and tell her to make another assassination attempt. With her utter dependence on the goddess, she probably would, and would do so with a massive smile on her face thanks to her goddess talking to her again.

Meanwhile, Damien and Lana had teamed up to make a final set of equipment for everyone. Not just enchanted accessories, but proper clothing woven from mana dense enough to block a slice of Shigeo's sword or a stab of Fleta's dagger. Dense enough that Lana could engrave it, adding her own enchantments and the effect of [Loyal Equipment] on top. Everything that hadn't been bonded, they destroyed. The only disappointment was that trying to soak their creations in one of Greenhair's permanent potions didn't work. The creation and use of potions was far too rigid, although, to be fair, any attempt at using a potion in a way other than drinking it was a long-shot to start with.

In the beginning, Damien had considered the [Neophyte Alchemist] of their group to have an advantage, given that [Alchemy] was a skill, and hence the effects of his potions increased with level. He'd swiftly been disabused of that notion when he'd seen just how rigid the recipes were compared to those of Lana or himself. Even before the slime cheat, he could save time by making a dress for a day-old baby instead of a grown adult, and then recycle most of the materials used into the next one. Lana could forge a dagger from a single piece of metal, that would blister the hand of any wielder and be worse than useless in a fight. Greenhair had no such options.

Shigeo was wearing something that had the appearance and rigidity of plate armour, but that weighed almost nothing. It was coloured a pale blue, not matching any metal Damien knew of. Shigeo had requested it simply for the air of mystery it gave. Fleta had a soft and flexible bodysuit, in greens and browns designed to provide some camouflage. Form-fitting clothing wasn't something she required any longer, thanks to [Drag Elision], but it was what she was used to, so she stuck with it. With her build focused on evasion rather than defence, she had the mindset that taking a hit was a loss, so had never worn heavy or bulky armour.

Grace had, of course, gone for a reproduction of her usual maid uniform. Despite looking identical, made from whites and blacks that a casual observer could mistake for cotton, it could absorb a blow from Shigeo with ease. Likewise, Lana and Damien had both gone for facsimiles of their usual everyday clothes.

Greenhair had gone for a green tunic and floppy, pointed hat, along with, for some weird reason, white tights. Damien didn't ask too many questions, putting it down to elvish fashion, and just followed the request.

The front door opened, and Fleta walked back in, having spent some time up the village's watchtower, ensuring Valerie really did leave. "I tracked her all the way to Greenrim before I lost her behind the landscape. She's gone," she stated, keeping things a little vague given that one of Sanctuary's cleaners was sweeping the room, with Grace occasionally making a half-hearted effort to snatch his broom, simultaneously feeling it should be her job, and yet enjoying her break. "Something has happened in Jurelli, though. I can see smoke and signs of fighting in the north-east."

"I bet the kingdoms are pissed at their forces getting wiped in the crusade," said Shigeo.

"Yes, but they wouldn't risk the rest by attacking Jurelli purely for revenge. That would just be asking for an invasion by their neighbours. Besides, the north-east section is Gaia's."

"Want to pop over for a look?"

"No need," chimed in their cleaner. "They're all fighting over Kari, a tier nine healer who can resurrect."

"What?" asked Shigeo, remembering that the cleaner existed for the first time in a while.

It wasn't like they'd completely ignored him. No-one was leaving powerful enchanted items unattended, or revealing sensitive information in his presence. They just hadn't been expecting him to join in the conversation.

"A tier nine [Chosen of Gaia] who can resurrect," he repeated. "The temple of Gaia has been keeping her hidden the past decade, but recent events caused her to go public."

"Wait, she decided that right after every kingdom in the bowl lost half their military was the time to step into the public and reveal that she could resurrect? Is she insane?!" complained Shigeo.

"A more pertinent question would be how do you know that?" commented Fleta.

"You of all people shouldn't underestimate the abilities of a tier one class," said the [Tourist], grinning. "Speaking of, Grungle sends his regards. He's impressed you made it."

The family went from relaxed to full-combat readiness within a second, Grant finding three blades pressed against various parts of his body.

"You're working for the Five," stated Fleta, and it wasn't a question.

"No, I'm working for Grungle." he replied, not reacting at all to the threatened violence. "I go places, listen, watch, talk to people. Now I'm talking to you."

"Grungle is still one of the Five."

"He's more one of the Two, actually. Alas, I haven't had the chance to assassinate Gaia yet, because taking out Murill put her right on edge. I was hoping causing all that chaos with Kari would distract her, but no such luck. In fact, it backfired spectacularly, because Gaia hid Kari away in her domain, ready to resurrect her if any assassination attempts succeed. With Illumis and Kakkerxat, the survivors assumed the Other got them, but alas, Damien didn't happen to perform a conveniently timed summoning when Valerie attacked, so now Gaia knows there's someone hunting them."

The household went blank, each one working through in their own way that their cleaner first claimed to be tier one, and then claimed deicide.

"So... Grungle is trying to take over the entire business, and has been sowing chaos around the bowl in order to distract the others, to let you slip in and assassinate them?" stammered Damien, boggling.

"Close. He's not trying to take over the business; he's trying to bankrupt it. He... regrets certain actions taken five hundred years ago. Also, I didn't 'slip in', as you put it. They're gods, after all. Important people. You can't expect anyone of that stature to clean their own heavens, can you? I went in through the front door, broom in hand. It's been my experience that a bag of cleaning supplies makes for an excellent skeleton key."

"You're giving a very interesting spiel there, but I'm not seeing any evidence," pointed out Shigeo.

"Ah, evidence. Of course. Here's a photo of me posing with the corpse of Illumis the Learned."

Grant stared at a wall, where an image appeared of a library, the rows of books so long that the end wasn't visible. An arm poked out of the bottom of the image, a mirror held in its hand, with Grant's face reflected in it. Seated at a desk was someone who looked very much like certain statues Damien had seen, but the statues didn't normally have the knife sticking out of their backs.

Damien was more focused on the contents of the desk, though; a shimmering image of Thale, frozen in a moment of horror, with tentacles tearing through the walls of buildings.

"So focused on driving the Other out of Thale that he didn't notice me behind him. Sorry for the mirror, by the way, but I can only record what my eyes see, which makes getting my own face in the image kinda awkward. Anyway, here's Kakkerxat the Mighty."

The image changed, showing a similar corpse in a room of trophies and weaponry, with Grant's face visible in the reflection in a shiny metallic shield. Damien spotted a dragon's head on the wall, and that was one of the smaller decorations. The larger ones, he didn't even recognise.

"Not so mighty when he was spending all his effort on protecting his stupid crusade. And finally, Murill the Dreamer."

This time, the image showed someone lying upon a bed. The bed didn't seem to be in any sort of room, but was floating in the air, requiring Grant to resort to his hand-mirror again. On the bed was once again a familiar-looking corpse, this one with a dagger plunged into her heart.

"Nice and easy, that one, given the amount of time she spends asleep. Not so easy to get there, of course. Wings would have helped."

"Nice illusions, but they aren't actually evidence of anything," pointed out Shigeo.

"They would be if you knew how that feat worked," muttered Grant, rather less happy than usual about no-one ever taking his photos at face value, given that their doubt meant he still had a dagger pressed into his neck.

"I doubt you're here just to brag about deicide," said Fleta. "What is it you want?"

"Of course I'm not. I'm here to clean!" exclaimed Grant. "And also to ask for your help in taking out Gaia, the last remaining obstacle in returning this world to its rightful owner."

"Why?" exclaimed Damien. "Illumis was trying to save Thale, and you stopped him? What the hell is Grungle doing?"

"Calm down, kiddo," said Shigeo. "Why don't you start from the beginning? Like, the five-hundred-year-old beginning?"

"Sure—it's not a hugely complicated story. Long ago, the world was a full sphere. Demons, dragons and monsters roamed everywhere. Humans managed to eke out a survival, but they were very much at the bottom of the food chain. No kingdoms. No large cities. Gathering too many humans in one place was just providing an easy snack for something bigger. Eventually, five champions of humanity decided they disliked that state of affairs, and so they sought to do something about it."

"The Five?"

"Obviously. They prayed to the God of their world for salvation, and he granted it. The one they now call the Other. The enemy. To each of them, he gave the power to protect their people. But instead of using it as intended, they tore the world in half. They took the humans and hid them away somewhere the monsters of the world couldn't reach. They offered salvation to the other weaker races, too. The elves and orcs agreed to join forces. The dwarfs and beastkin declined. Brenhin-Tân and its kin were invaders; it figured out what the Five were doing and tried to stop them. It failed, and got trapped here."

"Right. So that explains why the Five are referred to as thieves and betrayers. But why has Grungle flipped?"

"Because power corrupts," replied Grant, resisting the urge to shrug, given the blades in his proximity. "Can't say I know the full story myself, but from what I heard, humanity grew more than they expected, and instead of feeling proud, they felt threatened. They limited the power they granted. Ensured that the strongest were under their direct control. You've already met Valerie. Kari lived locked in a temple, never allowed outdoors. The priests in charge of her didn't even let her outside of her chambers without at least six guards watching her. Humans stopped being their people and started being their pets. The first time a trio of tier one craftsmen got together and figured out the loophole in their class, Grungle was impressed with their ingenuity. Then Illumis had them killed. That was the point at which Grungle realised how far they'd fallen."

"But the original world sounds like a horrible place. Why does he want to send humans back there? Why not stay here, but treat everyone with more respect?"

"That would have been his preferred course of action, but he couldn't do it alone, and the rest of the Five were opposed. They'd had their taste of power and immortality. Of not simply being respected, but being worshipped as gods. They had no intention of giving it up. He could leave humanity as pets of the Five, living and dying at their whims, or he could free them. He chose to free them. He deliberately poked a hole through the bowl and let the Other in. You're the result."

"And how is that any different from the rest of the Five?" burst out Damien. "He didn't ask my permission. He used me, destroyed my life, painted a target on my back and made my entire family fugitives."

"T̷̞͉͗̾h̷̭̋ḛ̷͓̈ ̶̜͓͖͊b̴̩̈́̎͗e̶̱̮̒̑̏t̸̠͕̲̉͌r̸̨̦̈͗a̷̛̝͜y̶̦̏̾é̴̯r̶͕̼̥͊́̓ ̸͈̻͈̇͛͊b̶̝̘͌̿̿ę̴̢̇̎t̷͙͔͘r̷̢̽̎̚a̶̡͌̊̔ỷ̶̜̣̀s̶̩̖͙̋́͘.̶̺̃̀͝ ̴͇̳̪̂̈́́I̶̬̪͛t̴͈̾͗͛ ̷̧̭̼̂́͝i̸͙̎̑ş̵͑͊͑ ̶̜̒ḧ̷͓́̃̂į̷̛̩̄̿ŝ̶̤̤ ̶̞͛͘ṋ̴̄á̵̮͜t̵̬̝̓u̵͇̱̒̇r̵̞̚è̸͉̭́̅.̵̭̝̫̋̓̓ ̸̖̗͛Ḩ̸͕̑͘͝i̶̛̩͙̓̌͜s̸̥̤̠͐ ̴̠̫̳̈́͐s̷͓͛ė̵͖̻̼͛l̵̻̘̬̊͆f̷̭̳̆́̀ͅ.̸̗̮̳̽̀ ̴̮̎͛Ḧ̸͍̘́̽i̴͕̗̊s̵̥͇͇̅͛̚ ̵̲̺́́ș̷͙̂o̷̤͐͜ừ̷̪̖̌l̵̻̟͗.̴̟̟̠͛̎ ̴̨̬̯̏̕I̸͇̗̒͜n̷͉̜͘ ̴̗̝͛͂t̵͙̤̜̐ȟ̸̗͙͂͗e̵͎̐̂ ̶̨̆̍p̶̢̑ā̸̡̑̅s̴̬̈́̊̽t̷̜̺̱͝͠,̷̡̫̐ ̶̗̣̙̏Ǐ̵̖.̷̗͓̟͛̈́ ̵̙̓̅̚Ỉ̷̼̣̗̕n̸̯̝̹̑ ̸̠̞̐̄͜t̵̝̆̒̃h̸̛̖͇̳ẻ̵̹̫ ̸̭͉̼̒̓͌p̸̛̗̺̭̐̋r̴̮̔̊̓e̵͖̯͗͜s̵̬̰̻̅e̶̤̦̪͂̏͂n̵͍̫̙̍t̵̻̩̺̓̽̆,̶̥̫͆̾̍ ̶͉̘̓ḧ̶̛̻̠͔́̈́i̵͕̿͌s̷̭͇͘͝ ̴̹̉̌̆c̶̬̾͂̃o̴̼͉̺͛m̷̢̘͚̌̐̈́ŗ̷̯̱̀̾̚a̵̠͋̏d̶̰͚̙́̈́͋è̴͍̀s̷͖͚̅͋.̶̹̙̀̽ ̸̭̿İ̴͕̃͘n̶̬̈́̊͌ͅ ̷̞̺͔̓t̶̥̏̿h̵̪̿̉e̷̪͖̐ ̸̣̝̗̾̓͝f̶̭͋ṷ̶̘͑͆͑t̴̪̳͈́̑̍ù̷̞̈́͋r̷̯̬̲̈́e̴̺̱͂,̷͇̭̆̚ ̴̬̜̾̑̓y̸̻̩̎o̴̞̓ũ̸̥̝̄̋.̴͈̝͌"

Damien winced at the psychic noise, the demon butting in once more. No, not demon. The Other itself. The supposed enemy of humanity.

From its previous actions, it was obvious it cared nothing for human life. Nor did it actively seek to destroy them. It simply was. An existence far outside of human comprehension. An alien so foreign that basic concepts like life and death ceased to make sense. Chaos. Arach-achanol—a true god.

And Grungle sought to bring it back. To give the bowl back to its control. Not to protect humanity, but to free it. But what purpose was there in being free if civilization and countless lives were destroyed as a result?

Damien looked at his parents, still with weapons ready to cut down Grant where he stood.

"Think he's telling the truth?"

"It's one hell of a tale," answered Shigeo.

"It does seem far fetched," agreed Fleta.

"If I may," interjected Greenhair. "If his speech is accurate, the elves moved here willingly. There are elves who lived through the war of the rifts. Although they never speak of the past, they may be willing to confirm or deny what we already know, particularly in light of recent events."

"Given that our friendly neighbourhood dragon seems to have perished, that's a good idea," agreed Damien.

"Quick trip to Ygrillana, then?" asked Shigeo.