Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

A lawyer, apparently, was not an option. What Sunday was given in return was many, many times worse, and made him regret opening his mouth.

Zihei sat on a chair that had been brought in by some mean-looking people. They were certainly not mages, but their appearances screamed danger despite that. Sunday didn’t remember seeing anyone similar in his time scouring the halls of the Arcanum.

Zihei sat confused, looking around with wide, terrified eyes that betrayed his feelings about being dragged from his office and into whatever the room was supposed to be. Whatever image the Arcanum had created for itself, was now undergoing a strict reevaluation.

Sunday didn’t feel like a prisoner, but he also didn’t feel free to leave. There had been many other questions, some leading, some quite honest, ensuring he felt heard and understood. Kloud was very good at what he did, however, his cold eyes somewhat ruined the good impression. It was like the man’s face refused to cooperate with what was going on inside of his head.

“Do you know what you’re here?” Kloud asked. The question was aimed at Zihei and Sunday repressed a smile. This was not the payback he was looking for, but it was something.

“No.”

Kloud nodded, “Initiate Aturi, Scribe Aturi, or Administrator Aturi? Which one do you prefer?”

“Just Zihei is fine. May I ask what this is about Investigator Kloud?”

Investigator? Makes sense.

“Initiate, it is. Your charge has met with individuals serving the Divine we shall henceforth refer to as ‘Joy’. I’m unsure if you’re familiar with that monicker.”

Zihei was positively shaking now. His eyes switched between Sunday, the Scribe sat in the corner, and Kloud. “N-no. No, I’m not,” he stammered.

“That is natural. Let me reassure you that what is happening is only for the reason of understanding why your charge, who I’m very well aware has been accepted with a shortened procedure due to interference from Adept Ironbond, has met with believers roaming Blumwin or its outskirts more than once.”

That made Sunday snap to attention and forget the plight of Zihei. How did that bastard know? He had been careful, and while it was obvious that there were things Sunday had refused to share in his answer, they were mostly related to his talents and spells. He wasn’t going to just give that up, and the mage seemed understanding.

But his experience since arriving in Blumwin hadn’t been mentioned at all!

Kloud continued, as if unaware of the gazes on him. He took out an illusory piece of paper out of thin air – either a spell or a talent reminiscent of Sunday’s own Golden Page. “Novice Sunday, a very high potential combat mage, has been observed since he arrived in the city. His current residence is the tavern known as the Wayward Rat.”

He paused and looked at Zihei.

Sunday’s mind was in turmoil. He had been observed? How? There had been no one! Moreover, the questions were not aimed at Sunday, but toward Zihei who was unrelated to all of this.

Kloud continued, mentioning places and people by name as if he were reading from a book containing details of Sunday’s daily life. He even knew of Savia and her goons, Vyn’s debts, the booze production in the Empy Manor, and who knows what else. He didn’t mention Mera or Riya at all, but that was hardly a relief.

“What the fuck?” Sunday interrupted, unable to hold out. “You’ve watched me this whole time? Even when I was attacked by believers?” I wonder how Kallus hadn’t bumped into them. Unless it’s Kallus reporting? No, that can’t be. That crazy fucker is unpredictable, and apart from Mera, probably no one can control him.

Kloud lifted his gaze and met Sunday’s eyes without a sign of remorse. “We did what we do with any new mage entering the city, even if it happens rarely. I understand you’re frustrated, as would be anyone in your position, but we assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about? There’s too much to worry about you creep!

Sunday reigned in his frustration. Anger wouldn’t lead him anywhere. His essence had stopped regenerating since entering the strange room, and all he had was enough for a few Phantasmal Falls and his talents. “But why did you do it?” he asked.

The cold mage’s eyes flashed strangely and for the first time, there was deep anger peeking through the lines of his face. “Because each uncontrolled mage is a potential natural disaster waiting to happen. Do you understand that even those accepted by the least potent spells, can become vessels of Divine power so large, it could destroy us? One corrupted mage can stand against others who outrank him with ease. Corrupted magi are inexhaustible, drinking from the madness of a god and growing more uncontrollable with each passing day. Our society cannot function if each one capable of becoming a mage is not controlled and tested again and again until they prove themselves. For a mage, corruption is a choice.”

“We do what we do to prevent that. We’ve denied more talented magi than we’ve let in, just because of ties to believers or unstable mentalities. And apart from killing those unawakened by us, we can only watch them, test them, see their allegiance and their ways. And don’t misunderstand. I don’t give two shits if you’re good, or bad, or even evil. However, worshippers are a plague threatening our existence, and it is our duty as those holding knowledge and power, to stop them.”

Kloud fell silent, then shifted uncomfortably. “I apologize for the outburst.”

“No,” Sunday waved a hand, “I apologize. Frankly, I don’t know much of the world and I didn’t understand the dangers involved. That makes a lot more sense.”

“While ignorance is never an excuse, I’ll accept it this time. You truly are out of the norm, but you’ve proven to be no friend of the Divine, much less of Joy,” Kloud said. “However, you’ve been found by them each time, and you’ve been beset with growingly more dangerous opponents.”

Shit. I have, yes.

“I don’t insinuate you’re the reason for the re-emergence. Divine presence has been constant in Blumwin, and no matter how much we’ve managed to contain it and hide it from the general populace, it continues spreading, like a disease. They have chosen now to start moving, and whether it is a coincidence or something more, frankly, doesn’t matter. There are seldom reasons behind the movement of the believers, especially ones allowed to keep their minds.”

The ones in Hurind’s manor had indeed been different. They didn’t strike him as particularly strong or dangerous now, especially compared to the full-grown monsters, but still… they had been different. The image of Elora getting her throat slit passed through his mind but he shook it away. This was not the time.

“What did you mean, when you said corruption is a choice?” Sunday asked. Zihei stood fidgeting to the side, forgotten.

“Magi, even if weak-minded, are creatures of balance beyond simple mindset. We are different than the mortals or undead who can be swayed by a simple whisper. That is what makes the Divine so dangerous. A loved one, a person you’ve spent hundreds of years with, can suddenly prove to be a madman, worshipping at the altar of the profane. And it wouldn’t be their fault.”

That makes me feel better about not outright killing people…

“Those that make it a conscious choice are stronger, and get to remain themselves to an extent. Some of them can turn into Prophets and those… are sometimes worse than magi. They are a plague.” Kloud fell silent then closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing and focusing on Zihei once again.

“Apologies, we’ve sidetracked. I’ll be blunt, Initiate Aturi. The believers seem to know Novice Sunday’s every move, and they’ve taken a special interest in him. You, as one trusted to monitor and help him, have failed miserably. It remains to be seen whether that is due to pure incompetence, or something else.”

Zihei paled, and Sunday widened his eyes. The weird romance writer couldn't be behind it all, could it? No, that would be too much.

“Y-you think I’m, I’m a believer?! No, no! I’m not! This… this…” he stood up and his back hit the stone wall behind him. He looked around wildly, looking for an exit. However, there was none.

This is too much. Sunday opened his mouth but then paused. Was his nausea and disgust for the believers a trustworthy indicator of corruption? He hadn’t felt it a single time when meeting with Zihei, but then again it had also not appeared while walking through the city, nor when he had first glanced at the nice flower lady.

I should let professionals do their jobs. But was it necessary to list everything I’m doing in front of him if he’s a suspect?

“There’s nothing to worry about. Corruption can be seen through the use of your spells. Yours are unsuitable for the task, however. Novice Sunday’s presence was mandatory for the first half, and sharing with you details of his life was to gauge your reaction to what I revealed. So far, everything looks good. Now, Novice Sunday, please give us the room. We have a lot to discuss, but making sure there is no one harmful here is the first order of business.”

Sunday felt torn. He wanted to learn more and to stay, but he also wanted to go check on Elora. Everything felt surreal and strange to him. He was led out by one of the silent guards, leaving the distraught Zihei behind.

They stepped into a tight hallway made of stone similar to the one that made up the room. Sunday had passed through it on the way in, but it was not that he realized there were no markings to show where the doors were. There might have been similar rooms throughout the whole length of the hall.

To prove his point, the silent guard stopped before a part of the wall that didn’t seem different than the rest and it shifted to reveal a larger room behind. Elora was sat on a comfortable-looking chair there and she was not alone.

“Ah, Sunday. Come in, come in,” Adept Ironbond greeted with a smile. Elora’s eyes shot up and she did too, running toward Sunday and stopping short of him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He smiled, “That’s my line. You got pretty beat up back there, sorry about that.”

“Sunday,” Adept Ironbond interjected, “it is my understanding that you want to trade an Art to the Arcanum in exchange for spells?”

Is that what matters now, you old fart? I can’t understand these fools. He was close to stepping into rank two, which was why he wasn’t that worried about the happenings around him. If push came to shove, then unleashing a hound on everyone involved was always an option.

It was like having a bomb ready to go off. One with teeth and a mean Dad.

******

Vyn reached for his sword but hesitated. Sunday had gone off somewhere, which was not an issue. His undead friend and employer had a lot to do, and all the strange happenings around him, while inexplainable, made Vyn excited.

He had chosen very well, despite the apparent danger to his life and sanity. He needed to get stronger and he needed to spread his wings, and Sunday was the ticket to that.

So, naturally, when the Empty Manor was being visited by strange people whose appearances screamed bad news, he was ready to defend the newly brewed product with his life. After a couple of adjustments, some herbs, and some sugar, the wine no longer tasted like a worse version of vinegar. It was still quite shit by all standards, but medicine was not supposed to be tasty.

Those before him were not just bandits or even believers. They were something… not quite worse but equally scary for Vyn. Especially one of them.

A man wrapped in a dark gray cloak, that was much more than he presented. The sun was going down now, and while it was not deadly to vampires, it still gave them discomfort and weakened them.

The vampire smiled, baring his two sharp canines, and bowed.

This was going to be a shitty evening, but most of all Vyn worried about one thing. How would Sunday react?