Chapter 133 – In which one must confront their feelings (1)

  In front of the Temple of Dead and Forgotten Gods.

  Cotteo looked Scarlen up and down with a wide smile.

  She didn’t let go of Iben’s hand though.

  “My, my, you’re really a pretty one. Well-fed. Not like this kid when he came to us.”

  She pointed at Iben.

  Sangria stole a quick glance at Iben, who seemed to desperately try make Cotteo stop talking with his gaze.

  He looked… normal.

  Maybe on a bit thinner side, but normal.

  Though his standards could be skidded because of Lord Archmage Crimo and Lesser Lord Mage Vern.

  Neither of them knew how to eat properly.

  Suddenly Cotteo’s gaze shifted to Sangria, and he flinched.

  Her gaze was strange, like she was looking at something far away… though it could just be because of a lazy eye.

  “Hello, friend. What your name may be?”

  “It’s Sangria.”

  “Quite a special name you choose for yourself, huh?”

  Sangria was surprised.

  Unlike Scarlen, whose demon roots were clear for anyone in the know, Sangria didn’t have a clear lineage visible in his features.

  What’s more, ‘sangria’ was a red wine.

  It didn’t go against Rubrun’s custom of names with red symbolism.

  So how did this person know that he choose this name himself?

  Thud!

  His thinking was cut short, as another person tumbled through the doorstep – one foot stuck in a bucket.

  “Where is he?!”

  They – if Sangria was correct in identifying the gendered beads on their belt – shouted, hastily looking around.

  From the foggy eye, Sangria guessed they were short-sighted.

  “Here! Here!”

  Cotteo shouted, while Iben closed his eyes and muttered a curse Sangria never heard before.

  He only knew it was a curse, because Cotteo sharp-turned her head and said:

  “That’s a bad word!”

  Clank! Clank!

  “Dear son!”

  “Yes, hello, Perlliar, ah, fuck…”

  Iben was tackled into a hug.

  He froze in place, his expression wax.

  Cotteo tapped Perlliar on the shoulder.

  “Now, now, don’t squish him. He doesn’t like to be touched, remember?”

  “Ah, right! I’m sorry. I was just happy to see you in one piece.”

  Perlliar hastily let go and retreated a few steps, the bucket clanking along.

  Iben took a deep breath and then make introductions.

  “This is Priest Cotteo and this is Priest Perlliar. They’re the keepers of the Temple of Dead and Forgotten Gods.” He pointed to the two priests, then turned towards the mages “This Grandmaster Scarlen and Master Sangria. They require your services.”

  “Services…? Oh no.” Perlliar’s face suddenly fell a bit. “I’m so sorry, I’m afraid that in my excitement I stepped into the bucket of clay, so our pottery services are closed for today.”

  “I meant your archive.”

  “Ah.” Perlliar’s face relaxed. “With that we can help. Come in.”

  Perlliar waved their hand towards the door, and followed after Cotteo, who was shouting something about tea and cookies.

  Iben was about to follow, when Scarlen tugged his sleeve.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Where does barrier starts?”

  “At the entrance gate. It blocks all eyes and ears, and puts an illusion for the peeking outsiders. It’s all spiritual art, no magic, so I’m not sure of exact principle.”

  “They let you examine it?”

  Iben glanced at Scarlen.

  A wordless conversation was exchanged, before Iben slowly said:

  “Those people really don’t care. I’m sure if you ask, they’ll let you examine it too.”

  Scarlen just smiled and headed in with Iben in toe.

  Sangria sighed inside and followed them in.

  ‘That’s not your problem. Not your problem.’

  He reminded himself.

  Inside, Perlliar and Cotteo laid a small table with some tea and light snacks.

  “Please sit down. What we can help you with?”

  Cotteo served them tea, while Perlliar struggle to free their foot out of the bucket.

  “We’re searching for information related to this god.”

  Scarlen carefully presented the scroll containing the symbol Crimo gave them.

  Cotteo glanced it and immediately nodded.

  “We have some memorandums and chronicles related to this god. Perlliar, will you bring them?”

  “… Hm? Ah, this one? Sure.”

  Perlliar, who finally managed to free their foot, nodded and stood up with hesitation.

  They appeared to know very well which gods it was.

  “Do you need anything else…?”

  “No, we don’t—”

  “Actually” Iben cut Scarlen’s off. Looking up from the deep green cup he was served tea in and at which he was staring for a while now, he spoke to Perlliar “… I need to ask something. About Purplus… law.”

  He bit his lip.

  Suddenly a little frenzied look he briefly showed in that restaurant hall, when the slave – no, the attendant, who served them was taken away by a guard, showed in his eyes again.

  Sangria thought that he got a hold of himself while walking, but it seemed that Iben simply suppressed those feelings.

  Sangria couldn’t claim to understand what’s going on, or what was Iben relationship with that attendant, but he recognized that the situation was less than pretty.

  “… Of course.” Perlliar’s face turned very serious for a moment, before it returned to its previous laid-back smile. “How about we talk while I get those scrolls?”

  “Yes, sure…”

  Iben was about to stand up, when Scarlen grabbed his sleeve.

  “I’m not sure I can allow it.”

  He was still smiling, but his eyes were sharp.

  Sangria hated when his eyes became like this, they made him uncomfortable.

  Iben looked at him, and he quickly returned to a smile he put on before, the one Sangria couldn’t read through at all.

  “It’s fine. I’m wearing your clothes, remember?” He pointed at Rubrun’s typical clothes, richly woven with spells. “All of your spells are intact. Or do you want to check them right now?”

  “I’m sure they’re intact *right now*. But how can I be sure they will stay that way?”

  “I swear you on my soul, they will remain intact until I return to your side.”

  Scarlen finally let go.

  “Okay. Have a pleasant conversation.”

  He said with a smile.

  Iben returned it and then leisurely followed Perlliar deeper into the temple.

  Sangria tore his eyes away from them and focused on drinking tea.

  He hated it.

  He hated it, he hated it, he hated it.

  But it wasn’t under his jurisdiction, so all he could do was to keep quiet.

  “So, what did His Excellency told you about this god?”

  Cotteo said, pushing cookies in front of Sangria.

  Sangria wasn’t hungry.

  “Not what we wished, I’m afraid.”

  Scarlen said ambiguously – he was clearly fishing for information.

  “I see. This was once very powerful god, so they went by many names. But we, in this temple, just call them Luni.”

  “That’s… quite a simple name.”

  Cotteo smiled at Scarlen’s openly bewildered expression.

  “When you know someone for a long time you end up giving them silly nicknames, right? But in our country – that’s Sidius – they were mainly referred as Nyxious. At least, before Luminere was established. That’s when their downfall started.”

  “Priest Cotteo, you mean to say this is pre-Luminere god of Sidius?”

  “Yes, indeed. One and only! Well, no, one of the two only!”

  Both Sangria and Scarlen were shocked.

  Not only any records of the history before Luminere extremely rare, it was the history of the neighbor country no one heard from for about for 200 years?

  How the hell Crimo got his hands on the symbol and ritual of Nyxious!?

  “And you say you have related records?”

  It was no longer just a matter of Crimo’s safety, it was the matter of science of history!

  Both mages looked at Cotteo with fire in their eyes.

  “Well, yes. But very little, most of the records were lost.”

  Cotteo seemed slightly embarrassed by the fiery attention.

  Then she suddenly smiled widely.

  “But if you’re really curious about pre-Luminere history, there is a person, you could ask. If you ask very nicely, I’m sure he will happily tell you everything you wish to know.”

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s His Excellency Amara himself.”

  *-*-*

  “Is it really okay?”

  Just when the two mages and Cotteo disappeared from sight, Perlliar suddenly turned and asked Iben with a serious face.

  Iben was embarrassed.

  “I don’t know what you’re asking about.”

  “I’m sure you know exactly what I’m asking about.”

  Perlliar pointedly looked at the clothes Iben was wearing.

  Iben unconsciously fiddled with the collar of his robe, that seemed to prick his neck.

  Perlliar’s eyes softened a little.

  “You shouldn’t be treated like this, you know?”

  “That’s quite a normal reaction. I was actually relieved when they reacted like sane people. Unlike some of my other captors.”

  “We were never your captors, and you were never our prisoner.”

  “Yes, that’s the problem.”

  The problem that made Iben’s guts twist and flip, and doubt everything he knew about the world and how it worked.

  He forced a breath through his windpipe and said:

  “That’s the problem… when you put yourself in danger, without caring for your own safety.”

  “What happened to Mr. Alexandrit?”

  Iben almost laughed.

  It was frustrating how obvious he was, how Perlliar needed just one look at him to know what was the crux of the problem.

  “There was an attendant, who ran into this like… very high rank priest, Sun Temple I think – splattered food all over her. Alex got there in a blink and took the blame instead. He was taken somewhere and I – I… I don’t know what happens if the attendant makes such a mistake. With– with how everyone looked at him, I thought– I thought…”

  “Shh, shh, that’s okay, I understand. No need to continue.”

  Perlliar raised their hands, as if to hug him, but they restrained themself, and instead just patted him on a shoulder.

  “Purplus doesn’t have a death penalty.” They paused for a moment, recalling something. “It can happen if the public strongly demands it. Just like it would be in your case probably, if His Excellency didn’t get you out beforehand.”

  “… Then his punishment…?”

  Perlliar was visibly hesitating.

  “Seven, dear child—.”

  “It’s Iben.”

  “Okay. Still. I think I’ll continue you call you Seven. It’s a lucky number.”

  Iben laughed dryly.

  “You’re making me think I’m going to need it.”

  “What you’re going to need it trust in Mr. Alexandrit. He is very smart and capable man. He won’t get himself into trouble that he doesn’t know he can get out from.”

  “You’re talking about the man I almost strangled.”

  “In his defense, an assassin mage capable of one hand casting and sneaking into the sleeping chambers of His Excellency was probably not on his list of potential foes.”

  Perlliar abruptly looked at Iben with a smirk dancing in the corners of their eyes.

  “Seven, for how enamored you’re with Mr. Alexandrit, you have not even one clue about him, huh?”

  Iben’s cheeks burned.

  His sense of panic being slowly replaced with sense of shame.

  “It just feels so wrong… to even think about him.”

  “Why?”

  “I tried to kill him…” He frowned. “You can’t be possibly so out your godsdamn mind that you don’t see a problem with that?”

  “Well… I can’t say I don’t see it, but I have a feeling that Mr. Alexandrit doesn’t care much about it.”

  “Yes! That’s why I’m so worried, he—!”

  “It’s not because he doesn’t care about his life. Nor does he seek death. He simply…”

  Perlliar paused, considering their words, before they shook their head.

  “You should ask Mr. Alexandrit about it the next time you see him.”

  “… I guess then I’ll see him again then.”

  “Haha, I’m sure you will. Just trust him a little.”

  Okay.

  That’s alright.

  He could wait a little.

  “But Perlliar… you still didn’t answer my question about the punishment.”

  Perlliar’s expression fell.

  *~*~*