– Beginning of Arc 10, Blasphemous Saint –

  – Era of the Wastes, Cycle 220, Season of the Rising Sun, Day 27 –

  “Are you alright in the head? Your face is twitching…”

  Terry’s mind had ground to a halt. He had thought he had been prepared when he had stepped into the realm portal to follow the path of the Veilbinder.

  He had been wrong.

  Terry was surrounded by god-like beings. Some of which might very well be the False Gods that had helped enslave his realm in the past.

  And here he was staring at a vanguard that had fought to vanquish these False Gods and free their realm. A legend from the Era of the Faithless Wars. An era so far in the past, it stretched credulity to meet a living witness.

  Hey, this is the first person I’ve met that’s definitely older than Devon!

  They should meet!

  “Uhh…” Terry’s silly thoughts restarted his brain after the shock. He wished his mind would have decided to come up with something more helpful or intelligent, but such was the nature of his intrusive thoughts.

  He blinked, inhaled, and finally managed to exhale a few dry words. “You’re… the Blasphemer!”

  Great opening. Tell him his title. I’m sure he never heard that before. Very helpful.

  Great impression on the living legend.

  Go ahead. You’re doing great.

  “I’m Terry,” continued Terry lamely.

  That’s it? Really?

  “It is an honor to meet you,” added Terry. He lowered his head slightly. “An honor to meet a Faithless Saint.”

  “‘Blasphemer’?” The legendary elf raised an eyebrow and held his tongue, clearly lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

  Awkward…

  Terry slowly lifted his gaze. Now that the gods that had antagonized him upon his arrival were gone, Terry couldn’t help but notice the mana patterns pulsing underneath the Blasphemer’s skin. They were mirrored in faint skin discoloration that mostly stood out on the elf’s bald head.

  Ritual markings. I wonder—

  “Damn, you really are from home,” exhaled Swen with astonishment.

  He doesn’t sound happy about it.

  “Who put you up to this?!” demanded Swen. “You must be from the human-native realm.” His expression darkened. “Petra! That damned human woman always had it out for me. Uptight! Cranky! Freakish fatass! I’ll get that fat bat back for this! Thinking her farts don’t stink and trying to make a fool out of me!”

  For the second time in less than five minutes, Terry’s mind screeched to a sudden stop.

  ‘Petra’? As in Saint Petra? That Petra? Faithless Saint Petra? Author of the Path of a Mage? Legendary healer and bulwark against the cults of the False Gods?

  ‘Uptight’? ‘Cranky’? ‘Freakish fatass’?

  Yup. I’ve got nothing. I haven’t heard a thing. Nevermind me.

  Terry gulped.

  “Alright, I’ll deal with that pest when she comes here,” huffed Swen. “I want to see what she has to say after taking her sweet fatass time to get here.” He scoffed. “At least we can finally get this shit going. About damned time. I still don’t know what tied Day up, and I’m losing my patience. As much fun as it is to put these wannabe gods into their place, they’re horrible company. Now, I don’t know why they would send you instead of someone I would recognize, but I guess it’s just so the big crank can get her giggles off again.”

  Terry had trouble processing what he was hearing, but when before his mind had halted, it was now utterly incapable of stopping or remaining silent.

  ‘Day.’

  “The Veilbinder…” Terry exhaled sharply.

  “The what?” Swen narrowed his eyes. A flash of suspicion entered his gaze but quickly disappeared. “If that’s another title the giggly kook has cooked up, I’ll have none of it. Seriously. The Blasphemer? Of all the titles I earned through my life, which one do I get to hear after a good thousand cycles? Founder of the Frontier Coven? Immortal Blood? Crusher of Crossroads Keep? Defier of the Dead Dreams? Chronomancer Extraordinaire?”

  “That last one I’ve never heard before.” Terry blurted out.

  “No?” Swen’s gaze changed slightly.

  Why do I get the impression something is off? It’s almost like…

  Terry had gotten a lot of training interpreting not just facial expressions, tones of voice, mana flaring, but also, more recently, soul flickers. He still had problems catching up with everything consciously, but he was getting better at instinctively reacting even before his conscious mind had caught up.

  Is he testing me?

  “I guess, I earned that after I started my most recent realm tour.” Swen shrugged. “Still, of all the titles, the uptight bat sends the vanguard to greet me like that? Bastard.”

  Terry skipped over the new insult for Saint Petra and directly jumped to ‘vanguard’ which caused confusion to spread over his honest face before he caught up with the gist of the statement.

  “You mean after you returned from toppling the involuntary death game organizers from the lamia realm?” asked Terry.

  “You know about that, huh?” Swen maintained a deadpan expression.

  “I’ve heard of people researching magic around time, but I’ve never heard of anyone claiming a title of chronomancy,” said Terry in the tone of a curious student… because he was.

  After Terry’s experience in the folded space, he had kept an eye out for reading material on magic manipulating time. The strange plant powering the ancient dao chambers had helped Terry strengthen his body tremendously, but he still felt like it wasn’t enough.

  Swen observed Terry carefully. “Pity. I would have hoped our home would have discovered something worthwhile to add here, but let’s get to the point.” His gaze sharpened. “I don’t know you. I’m pretty sure you’re from home, but ‘pretty sure’ doesn’t cut it around here. You come mentioning a title that’s beneath me. One I haven’t heard in…” His gaze became unfocused. “Forever.”

  Swen rubbed his chin while focusing his gaze back on Terry. “Who are you? I don’t sense anything on you that would explain why you’re the first they send. Your soul seems a bit strange, but not a threat. Your mana foundation doesn’t match the age of your body. You’re weird, I give you that, but not in the way I could use here. You’re way too young and too weak to be in the Court of Gods. What are they thinking?”

  “‘They’?” Terry furrowed his brow.

  “The others?” retorted Swen as if it was obvious before his soul and eyes betrayed a trace of suspicion again. “You talked as if you knew about me. My little trip to teach some pissy snakes a lesson, for one. A title from home for two. The former isn’t much of a secret, but the latter is. You also didn’t react to the other titles, so they were familiar to you as well, even though the battle at Crossroads Keep was hardly something that reached ears in the Court.”

  Suddenly, Terry found himself pressured by a similar presence to earlier. It wasn’t at the level of the three gods pestering him without restraint. Just barely enough to make him uncomfortable.

  Which is probably the point. He’s wary of me.

  Unsure how he should explain himself best, Terry simply retrieved his most cherished possession from his storage bracelet. A huge tome of a book. He held up the Path of a Mage and showed it to Swen. “All I know is what’s in here.”

  Swen’s eyes widened at the title before hissing. “Put that away! Quickly!”

  Terry didn’t understand, but did as he was told.

  Swen sighed. “Alright, kid. I know what that is.” He shook his head. “Guess Petra eventually finished her pet project.” He scoffed. “Can’t believe she put that stupid title in there.” He looked at Terry. “Don’t ever take that out without me around, you hear me? Don’t show it to anyone. Ever. It would be best if you burn it after bringing me up to speed.”

  Terry’s mind screeched to a halt and rebelled at the mere idea of burning his most precious first edition of Path of a Mage. To destroy the gift his uncle Samuel had given him after finally casting his first and only spell.

  “I’m serious,” stressed Swen. “Unless the fat bat had the sense to give you a traveling edition that ends a little early, the contents of this book must never be seen by anyone around here. No one here is to be trusted. No matter how nice they seem. They’re all addicts to faith. They’re all terrified of death. They will all fall eventually.”

  Swen slapped Terry on the shoulder. “Now come, we’ve already said too much. My aura should protect us from prying ears, but some are more capable busybodies than others. Most shouldn’t know this language yet, but Allvoice won’t take long to change that. Not another word until we reach a chamber whose integrity is upheld by the Order.”

  This language? Oh, he’s right.

  Terry realized that Swen’s voice appeared different from the earlier gods. It didn’t resound in his mind like the sensation of reading finger runes. It wasn’t the modern common tongue, either.

  Now that Terry took a moment to consider it, he realized that Swen had addressed him in the ancient dwarven tongue from the time before the common tongue had unified human, dwarven, and elven communication.

  Why did he choose a dwarven tongue when we’re…? Oh…

  Terry realized from his mana touch that among the many shapes and appearances he felt from the surrounding gods, there was a sizable number of elves present while Terry struggled to find even a single dwarven shape.

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  Once again, Terry was reminded of the different starting points among the different folks. Without the Veilbinder’s efforts – or someone else taking over the task – dwarves would have been forever left behind in the magic world.

  The number of people being born with passive mana accumulation was that much of a difference between the folks.

  The new systems and active means of starting the process shared by the Veilbinder acted as an equalizer, but these were mortal means, unlikely to be shared by the likes of the False Gods. In a place like this, it stood to reason to find few or no dwarves, just like finding more elves than humans.

  And testing my dwarven probably tells Swen something else…

  Terry still couldn’t shake the feeling that the Blasphemer was probing him. He couldn’t blame the Faithless Saint, either. Terry had already gotten paranoid after a year trapped with martialists. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to spend a millennia surrounded by hostile gods.

  Terry pushed his reflexive resentment of being tested away. He could see where the Faithless Saint was coming from. He wouldn’t dwell on being a subject to scrutiny. He didn’t care about feeling defensive.

  Not when the Blasphemer was the only one that might keep him safe in this den of divine vipers.

  Not when there were so many fascinating things to learn, either.

  ‘Allvoice’?

  ‘The Order’? That term again…

  He said not another word…

  Terry wrestled with himself. He really wanted to ask, but trusted the Faithless Saint, but he really wanted to ask, but…

  “Your face is twitching again.” Swen seemed amused. “Just spit it out, but show some sense.”

  He said it’s okay, so…

  Perhaps it was the tension that had slowly left Terry.

  Perhaps it was the flood of fascinating sensations and sights all around him.

  In front of the living legend from the Faithless Saints, Terry’s inner Academy student could be restrained no longer.

  “What’s the Order? What’s Allvoice? Are there other Faithless Saints around? What happened to the Veil— to Day? What was that pressure I felt earlier? How did you make it go away? Have you ever heard of a way to liquify mana? Can I send a message back to where I came from?”

  Deep down, Terry knew he should give the ancient archmage time to answer before hopping to the next question, but somehow, he couldn’t stop himself. He had never felt so stressed and giddy at the same time. The questions just kept falling out of his mouth before he could do anything about it.

  “Was that a floating fish? Are there any gods I should be particularly wary of? Where can I get crafting materials? What’s that? And this? And—?”

  “Stop it!” Swen jumped forward and held Terry’s mouth, much to Terry’s embarrassment.

  Swen took a deep breath, shook his head, and began to chuckle while removing his hands. “Boy, you remind me of Dalia when we first brought her to the surface.” He composed himself. “Which is not a compliment. The weirdo licked a tree to know what it tastes like when she thought no one was looking. Kept denying it afterwards, too.”

  ‘Dalia’? As in Saint Dalia? That Dalia? Faithless Saint Dalia? First dwarven mage? Unrivaled paragon of shadow magic and terror of any cultist daring to step into the Deep?

  Saint Dalia licked a tree?

  I… don’t know how to feel about this.

  Terry got the unshakeable feeling his idea of the Faithless Saints and legends of old was doomed to become a lot less dignified the more he heard from the Blasphemer.

  The feeling distracted him from the intense shame of having a Faithless Saint essentially tell him to shut up.

  Momentarily, at least.

  “At least, I know you’re really as young as your body makes it seem,” said Swen. “Either that or you’re old enough to have lost your marbles to time.”

  Rude.

  Your marbles aren’t lost. They’re just not with you. They’re in a dungeon. You might not know where they are exactly, but you know where the dungeon is. That’s close enough, right?

  Terry bit the inside of his cheeks to stop the nonsensical thoughts invading his head. “Sorry, uhm…” He considered his priorities, but before he could ask about sending a message back to his companions, Swen already picked up the conversation.

  “Allvoice is a means to communicate via the essence of mana,” said Swen. “Useful, because the ambient mana of a realm basically acts as a universal translator.”

  Is that how finger runes work, too?

  Swen spat on the floor. “One of the few good things these divine parasites have come up with.” His eyes darted around to check for anyone that might take offense at his phrasing, both to happily pick a fight, and to get a hint for anyone that might be listening despite his best efforts. When no one reacted, he continued. “Follow me.”

  “The workings of Allvoice work in our favor right now, because the ambient mana of this realm is practically untouched by the language we are speaking.” Swen glanced around suspiciously. “But, just like my aura, it’s not enough to shield ourselves against everyone roaming the Court of Gods, which is why we need the assurance of the Order. Follow me.”

  Swen glanced at Terry while leading him past the prying eyes of gods walking the dome. “From your question, I take it that the thing that must remain hidden didn’t explain the Order. How about the Court?”

  Terry shook his head.

  “Leviathan? The Judge?”

  Terry’s eyes widened. “Yes, actually. It—”

  “Don’t.” Swen cut him off. “Just don’t. I doubt Petra learned enough to give Day’s achievement justice, but rest assured the Leviathan is enforcing the rules in the Court and none of the godly cowards would dare defy the Order of the Judge. As much as I would like to take all the credit, the Judge’s deal with Day to act as the arbiter of all agreements for us is the biggest reason no god goons have managed to enter our home through this hub.”

  Terry nodded. He had read about the Leviathan in the Path of a Mage. Despite her best efforts, Saint Petra’s account was lacking in detail for the stories that had played out in other realms, because she didn’t have the same chances to collect information for these stories.

  Saint Petra had been a mage of Terry’s native realm. Her path had crossed early with the Veilbinder, but not as a companion in his battles yet. Later, during the Second Great Crisis, she had enlisted as a mage, but she had not travelled directly with the Veilbinder. Her time as a travel companion of the Veilbinder came after his return from other realms.

  At that point, many of the legendary feats had already been done. The foundation to liberate the realm and to start the Faithless Uprising had been laid. Saint Petra had never met many of the Veilbinder’s companions from other realms that had helped lay the groundwork.

  The story of Leviathan was a story of a god at the pinnacle of godhood. A god so feared that other gods conspired against him. Tricked him into madness, which for a god defined by the concepts of law and order, meant ultimate weakness.

  Weakness that only receded when the god got closer to death.

  Weakness that meant the Leviathan was almost forgotten when the Veilbinder stumbled upon the myths surrounding the curse of madness. A curse that could only be lifted by proving superior power to the one inflicted.

  A task thought impossible by the gods who had cursed Leviathan. When the Veilbinder had first heard about it, he could only agree with the assessment. Nor had he harbored any particular interest in liberating the Leviathan.

  Not until much later, after another god had crossed the Veilbinder. Sophis, a god of knowledge and secrets. The wicked god had sucked the secrets and life out of one of his companions in front of the Veilbinder. A betrayal of an earlier agreement that had been struck.

  The mage had been unable to stop it.

  The mage had sworn to never forget it, and to find a way to avenge his companion.

  However, just like defeating the mad Leviathan, killing Sophis was impossible, perhaps even more so, because the latter’s very existence was abstract and ethereal. The god had no physical body. It had literally transformed into the mind of its native realm and stretched its tendrils to taint the realms touching upon its borders.

  Impossible once.

  Impossible twice.

  But the Veilbinder managed both, regardless. Once and for all, he proved how terrifying a mortal’s vendetta could be, when the mortal was a mage who swore on the mantra that everything could be beaten.

  Everything had a weakness. If there was none, you simply had to create one. If you did not know how, you were still missing a piece of information.

  Information, and an ancient energy-generating artifact unwittingly excavated in another realm. Different factions had been clamoring over how to use the artifact to gain power, so much that a once relatively peaceful realm had slowly descended into blood and war.

  Right until the Veilbinder inserted himself into the conflict by appearing right on top of the artifact. He ‘offered’ to take the conflict-causing artifact out of their hands or to speed up their collective suicide by blowing the unstable power source up directly instead of waiting until they do so by accident or bloodlust.

  Naturally, the offer wasn’t appreciated. However, once the transport magic started, it was clear the artifact would blow up and there was nothing they could do about it anymore. The question wasn’t if, but where it would explode. Understandably, the locals found unity in preferring the Veilbinder to finish taking the artifact away to another realm.

  An unimaginably powerful explosion that could shake an entire realm.

  The perfect ambush on a mad god. It wasn’t enough to defeat the cursed Leviathan, but on top of the lingering stupor of receding madness, it was enough to give the Veilbinder and his companions a fighting chance.

  A battle of legends that would spread as whispers even among gods. Even so, this battle itself was not the part that inspired terror in the divine minds.

  Before striking the finishing blow, the Veilbinder instructed his companions to leave the Leviathan’s asylum.

  Information.

  Gods cursing one of their own for their power, only to then allow a more powerful being to lift the curse?

  The Veilbinder had shared enough dealings with gods to be wary. Most of all the incident with Sophis which he had sworn to never forget. The myths had failed to mention the curse was designed to infect any challenger who won the impossible battle.

  The Veilbinder was not the person to fall for such a trap. In fact, the legendary mage had counted on it. He wanted it. He yearned for the god-debilitating madness.

  When the final blow was struck, the madness infected his mind… or rather the mind of his simulacrum. Of the magic clone he had created of himself.

  Simulacrums had always been considered risky spellwork. An independent mind might turn on you eventually. The clones also had other weaknesses.

  A simulacrum was inherently weaker than the original.

  It was also dependent on the creator’s magic to sustain itself.

  Two weaknesses of a simulacrum that were the perfect fit for what the Veilbinder needed.

  The Veilbinder overpowered his simulacrum. He used a travel artifact paired with an anchor he had stashed in the realm of Sophis. He dropped the mad simulacrum and fled before any god had even learned about Leviathan being challenged.

  When the mana to the simulacrum was cut, its vanishing was indistinguishable from being defeated, so the curse was looking for the non-existent victor in the realm whose very fabric was the essence of Sophis.

  Madness was crippling to a god embodying law and order, but it was absolutely lethal to a god of knowledge and secrets.

  That day, the impossible just happened. Twice.

  Mortals killed Sophis, an unkillable ethereal existence.

  Mortals defeated the Mad Leviathan, the unbeatable opponent.

  When Sophis died, access to its realm was cut off entirely, except for the Veilbinder, who still had the paired artifact to enter and exit freely. Sophis’s library provided much of the information the Veilbinder needed to prepare the final crusade against the Twin-Gods of Death enslaving his native realm.

  When the Leviathan re-emerged, he felt both vindictive to his enemies and thankful to the Veilbinder. However, the Veilbinder knew better than to mistake the god for a mortal. No matter the god’s personal sentiments, Leviathan was a god defined by a concept. Law and order did not lend themselves to vengeance and gratitude.

  No, the Veilbinder carefully phrased his ask for repayment in terms the Leviathan couldn’t help but oblige. The Judge would be the arbiter and guarantor for the dealings of mortals with gods.

  The word of a god of secrets like Sophis was worth worse than nothing.

  But a word backed by a god of law and order as powerful as Leviathan? Backed by the Judge that would eagerly vanquish any offending god breaking the oath they had made to mortals?

  Installing Leviathan as the Judge was the final act the Veilbinder had done in honor of his lost companion.

  A warning to all gods meddling in mortal affairs and daring to think mortals beneath honest consideration.

  A court in which mortals could count on the gods to hold their word.

  Sophis was not the first god the Veilbinder had killed, but it was the first that had resonated across all the connected realms.

  The Path of a Mage included the Leviathan and the arrangement the Veilbinder had made with Leviathan as the Judge, but little beyond that, because it wasn’t long before the Veilbinder departed for his Final Sacrifice.

  Even the title ‘Court of Gods’ had made no appearance in the book.

  Terry couldn’t wait to hear more from the companion of the Veilbinder himself. He subconsciously held his breath when they finally entered one of the chambers whose privacy was guaranteed by the Judge’s Order.

  “Alright, kid, if you’re really from home, then you might be the only one in this mortal-forsaken place, I can fully trust,” said Swen. “I hope you’re up for it, because I’ve been stuck for too long. I need your help against the gods.”

  ***