Chapter 48.1: Mending effort
"You have arrived, the true sovereign of Saudade," the menacing voice resonated, though much fainter the second time. The notion crossed Ragnorr's mind that he might be experiencing hallucinations, deprived of sufficient sleep. The office, in disarray, bore witness to untidiness, with unsolicited stacks of papers and books strewn across the floor. Even the inhabitant himself appeared lifeless.
"You appear pitiable, prince of the sleeping realm. Or perchance you have mistaken me for a passing sovereign?" I tease as I draw nearer, attending to the scattered books and unruly papers. The room becomes more breathable, as sunlight pours in through the lofty windows, illuminating the frail figure of Ragnorr.
"It is true that I lack the eyes of the monstrous allies you possess, but I recognize the demeanor of my sacrificial lamb anywhere. Our connection is bound by the blood moon itself," he abruptly declares, fixing his half-opened gaze directly upon me. This cannot be the manner in which I confess my fault, I ponder; as he continues to speak.
"Do not attempt to deceive me with a mere display of newly sprouted horns. I know you, Mikhail." He collapses, his feeble strength dwindling. As he struggles to gain my attention, crawling on the floor, I am compelled to lift him up. Allowing him to move about like a worm in his current state would be arduous.
"Very well, Ragnorr, you have caught me. Please, do take a moment to rest. I shall handle matters from here. It appears you have been burdened with an overwhelming workload," I remark, gently placing Ragnorr onto the settee. With a few exhausted yawns, he settles into a comfortable position, finding solace in the seat.
"After your presumed demise, as declared by Andromalius himself, I acted in accordance with our alliance agreement. However, he proved to be easily overpowered, prompting me to merge my own reign in order to fully support Saudade,"
Ragnorr speaks with renewed vigor, voraciously consuming his meal as if it were the end of the world. With the exception of Uriel, I cannot imagine who else may have visited this time.
"The parchments you see are decrees from my castle, while the ordinary paper documents reflect the internal struggles within Saudade. Though the number of ideals has diminished, they remained manageable until your return," Ragnorr continues in a commanding tone.
A pile of skin parchments, surpassing the ordinary papers, collects dust as a testament to their unresolved nature. These hastily crafted responses offer little in addressing crises that demand more substantial and well-thought-out solutions
"What role does Uriel play in all of this? Surely, she must have contributed significantly, considering her penchant for taking charge." I inquire, aware that Uriel's involvement would likely have a profound impact on the current state of affairs. In the unfortunate scenario where the majority of these endeavors are the result of her suggestions, I am inclined to believe that they should be discarded rather than entertained and implemented.
"Her 'highness' does not demonstrate a great interest in matters of governance. She has been engrossed in assisting with my research, primarily focusing on modifying my existing projects. While some of her contributions have proven helpful, the majority are centered around weaponry or high-grade equipment," Ragnorr explains. It becomes apparent that her presence may pose certain challenges in these civil matters. While she shines in times of war, I question the practicality of her work in situations such as the present.
"I empathize with the challenges you face. Please rest now, and I will rouse you when supper is served," I assure Ragnorr. He has already succumbed to a deep slumber as I utter these words, leaving me to grapple with the remaining responsibilities.
…
As the twelfth chime resonates through the air, the final parchment is completed. Midnight blankets the surroundings, casting a faint glow from the crescent moon above, signaling the arrival of a new day. Before rousing everyone from their slumber, I take a moment to calm my racing thoughts. A leisurely stroll seems fitting to collect my thoughts amidst the tranquility.
The garden exudes an eerie stillness, accompanied by the faintest whisper that carries a feminine essence. Its voice echoes with a blend of fierceness and doubt, akin to a predator sizing up its prey. It is a familiar presence from within my lineage, one that never mistakes the true nature of others.
"Come forth and reveal yourself, for I can hear your voice from afar," I call out with a tinge of anger. Emerging from behind a pillar, Jeremiel appears in her nightgown. As scatterbrained as ever, she approaches me without a hint of defensiveness.
"So, you can perceive me from such a distance, cherub? Oh, no, cherubs are the title reserved for angelic counterparts. What was it my sister used to say?" Jeremiel's characteristic "intellect" shines through in her words. She fails to distinguish between even the most basic races, let alone sub-species. It is no surprise that she mistakes me for an ordinary lamb-like creature.
"You should refer to me as an imp, as they possess a better understanding of our inherent differences, Jeremiel. Although Uriel should have educated you about the diverse range of demons that exist within our realm," I explain, dropping subtle hints about my true identity. Oblivious to my implications, Jeremiel responds naively.
"Ah, yes, you're right. Thank you, little imp. Wait, how do you know my name and my sister's name? I have never seen any servants like you around here." Jeremiel's only cause for suspicion in that statement is my knowledge of both their names. I decide to play along for a little while longer, eager to gauge her perspective on coexisting with demons.
"I'm new here, just awakened to assist Ragnorr," I reply, feigning a slightly clueless tone to maintain the illusion of being a mere lamb creature.
"Well, Ragnorr sure has an adorable helper like you," Jeremiel responds, scratching her head in a manner that mirrors my own. Is this how she perceives everyone, without hesitation or discrimination? It's somewhat comforting, but it's time to bring this charade to an end.
"How dense can you be, Jeremiel? It's me, Mikhail," I assert firmly. Jeremiel flinches at the sound of my name and instinctively takes a step back, even covering her legs. How did she manage to survive on the battlefield alongside Gabriel? With her naivety and defenseless tactics, she should have met her demise long ago.
"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I couldn't recognize you with the horns. And your scent, it's different too. It used to be floral and ethereal, but now it's cold and dusty," Jeremiel hurriedly explains, conjuring more appropriate attire for the occasion. She now wears a white suit with a textured green fabric, suitable for formal occasions rather than a casual night walk. Perhaps I should have suggested a less revealing gown for her and called it a night.
"Goodness gracious, if that's the case, your enemies could easily masquerade as allies and ambush you without resistance. And what do you mean by scent? Are you a hound?" I let out a sigh, realizing that clarifying my identity won't be as straightforward as I had hoped
"I apologize," Jeremiel huffs. "Gabriel mentioned that you were returning, but he's been so busy assisting the improvement team in town that he hasn't had the chance to come back to the castle or see Aeterna."
"I see. So what have you been doing here?" I inquire, genuinely curious. I've never directly witnessed Jeremiel's activities in the past. While she has led successful short battles and monitored the army's morale, she has always fallen short of my expectations for a functional being.
"Besides aiding my sister, I've been teaching them about battlefield strategy," she replies. Well, at least they have another perspective from Blood Claw himself. Otherwise, Saudade's military would be in ruins under Jeremiel's guidance. It's no good having a battalion of military commanders who can't even take care of their basic needs.
"Understood. Farewell for now. Please don't follow me this time," I wave my hand and attempt to bid her goodbye, but she holds onto it tightly. Despite the difference in our strength, her grip is surprisingly strong and painful.
"Wait, you're just leaving like that? Aren't there important matters to discuss, like the rebellion's next move or your plans for our stay?" Jeremiel's concern is commendable, as she seems to have picked up a thing or two from Gabriel and Uriel's guidance. However, considering the current circumstances, the timing of her worry is somewhat perplexing.
"It's been a tiring day for me, but a new day is about to dawn. I plan to take a short walk before announcing my return. I prefer to go alone, so why don't you take a break for now?" I respond, trying to free myself from her grip.
"Well, please stay safe this time," she says with a whimsical tone as she finally releases her hold on me. The castle is my enjoyment for myself. I find myself back in the silent hallway and dimly lit streets, breathing in the serene night air. It has been a long time since I enjoyed the solemn of a night market.
There are few establishments open at this hour, mainly serving as a transitional period between the bustling night market of revelry and indulgence, and the early morning market where supplies are replenished for the new day. Seeking a moment of relaxation, I enter a spacious tavern. The ambiance has mellowed compared to an hour ago, with some patrons starting to make their way home, while others linger, accompanied by sleepy melodies—a predictable scene, in retrospect.
"Stolas, you should take a moment to unwind. It has been quite some time since we last ventured out like this," a voice speaks from behind me, its resonance bearing a striking resemblance to that of the royal messenger. And the name Stolas—a prince of Hell. What business does he have with one of Hell's princes?
"Caim, as I have mentioned before, it is prudent to employ our alternative names rather than our true ones when venturing outside," Stolas replies, confirming its identity as the esteemed librarian. The name Caim, too, strikes a chord, as it was earlier mentioned in reference to the royal messenger. Ah, yes—the so-called "president" of Hell, Caim, the lord of plague and illness.
"It is quite late already. What do you expect to find out here? Speaking of which, I see a solitary goat sitting all by itself. This presents us with an opportunity to make new acquaintances," they remark, approaching and taking seats near me. Only then do I realize that they were referring to none other than myself?
Savoring the refreshing taste of mead, its sweetness imbued with the essence of honey, I indulge in a moment of respite, seeking solace in the impending intoxication.
"It seems we have not crossed paths before. You must be a recent arrival to these parts. I am Caim, a mere inconsequential individual. And this is Stolas, with an insatiable appetite for books,"
Caim introduces himself in a gentle tone, his approach to gathering information mirroring that of Kryos as a natural, unobtrusive approach.
Why does Kryos infiltrate my stream of thoughts? Perhaps my concerns are unfounded. Kryos is a cunning and manipulative being, and should the angelic army come searching for him, he would likely flee at the first opportunity. I must remain composed and dismiss these intrusive thoughts. They serve no purpose here.
"I do not possess a name, merely being known as Baphomet suffices for the two demons from the Ars Goetia in front of me," I reply, swirling the glass of mead, which is met by Stolas's wine glass. Even in public, Stolas shows no restraint, as its wings morph into tentacle-like appendages, deftly seizing the glass.
"Intuition rarely fails me, and while my ominous presence has struck fear into many, it seems to have little effect on you. Whom might you be?" Stolas inquires. A glance around reveals that the other patrons have all departed, leaving only myself and the tavern keeper. Stolas appears accustomed to their presence.
"As a reader of books, you must be aware that my specie possesses a resilient tolerance for languid punishment. Please excuse my overstep of boundaries," I respond, my tone laced with annoyance, while the billows of Stolas's nightmare smoke evoke the chill of my approaching blizzard.
"Perhaps you, too, are an enigmatic creature. Your soul sets you apart from those who have 'served' under me," Stolas snickers.
As ashes gather between us, an irksome crow flutters nearby. Is this the form the royal messenger assumes—a black, malevolent crow, emanating an aura of sickness that stifles those around it? The name should have triggered recognition, but I, in my oblivious state, failed to grasp its significance.
"Now, now, there's no need to get worked up. We're here to alleviate stress, Stolas. I apologize for my companion's behavior, but what he said holds truth—there is a sense of mystique surrounding your soul, as if it is not complete," Caim intervenes, diffusing our tempers. When he mentions my soul not being whole, I recall that God has mended all fragments, unless he is referring to the piece Azazel stole.
"I have indeed lost a part of my soul due to a contract, but it is a topic that should not be discussed openly," I fabricate a lie that conveniently aligns closely with the truth. By doing so, if they were testing me, it would become a truth within their perception. It is a trick I have gleaned from perusing Sariel's records.
"A contract, you say? We, too, are bound by one, although the broker may differ, there are similarities we can acknowledge," Caim leisurely remarks, as I am privy to the contents of those contracts through Kryos's narratives. Yet, it is also a practical truth.
The conversation continues, with each word served like honey, reminiscent of the mead and spirits we consume. This intoxicated engagement persists until the first light of dawn breaks, and we part ways without a proper farewell
'Collocatione' deliver me to the front of the office, where the conversation I overheard outside of the door.
"I have the strangest dream of they come to visit me."
"I have told you, that isn't a dream. They have helped me with this work since yesterday. You know that I am not that mentally capable of that care of these in a night."
The end
The winds howl and the oceans rage
As the world prepares to turn a new page
And though the end is drawing near
We'll stand strong, we'll have no fear