Commerce Emperor Chapter 33: The Devil and the Priest (Patreon)

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I usually sought out crowded places when in a conflicted mood.

I believed all humans were on a spectrum as far as social interactions were concerned. Some people loved to be alone. Colmar struck me as the kind of person who would be happy working weeks in his laboratory with no one to disturb him; and while she wasn’t adverse to group activities, Soraseo preferred to rest in quiet meditation. These two spent energy when around others and recovered it in quiet solitude.

I often heard the same call—who wouldn’t need some space now and then—but I worked the other way around. Isolation drove me mad. Parties were my medication. I felt happier when surrounded by fellow human beings than the walls of my room.

And as I long suspected, Eris shared my predilections.

“Oh look, an apothecary,” she said while pulling my sleeve towards a shop. We’d stopped by five places already. “We should get Colmar a souvenir.”

After our heavy discussion at the manor we decided to take a breath of fresh air in Walbourg’s old city; more specifically, its cathedral. Arcane Abbey holdings were almost always the core of an artisan district, due to the religion’s focus on witchcrafting, and Walbourg’s center of worship was no exception.

While nowhere near as lively as the suburbs’ market, the cathedral’s plaza welcomed its fair share of shops. Pilgrim hospices and small alchemist emporiums prospered in the shadow of its spires. With the coming Reformist summit and the Priest’s presence in the city, a hive of believers had made the trip to the city. All the inns we passed by were completely full, the baked bread stands had been raided by hordes of ravenous visitors, and the craftsmen’s shelves missed half of their usual goods. The next weeks would be very prosperous for Walbourg’s various businesses.

A pity they were all tourist traps.

Most of the people visiting the cathedral were pilgrims, foreign dignitaries, or Reformist priests. In short, individuals with deep pockets and little regard for what they spent. The old city’s merchants were more than happy to play along.

A look at the apothecary’s wares confirmed my fears. A half-liter of ointment sold in Snowdrift for eight coppers cost a full silver in Walbourg; a twenty percent increase in price according to the latest exchange rates. Worse, I’d bought enough apothecary skills to tell the Walbourgian one was of poorer quality than my hometown’s.

Now, I was the Merchant. I believed everyone was entitled to the sweat of his brow and to earn profit for their work. I did not fault these traders for setting high prices.

But I also believed in quality standards, and none of these shops met them.

“I’m glad Colmar stayed in Snowdrift,” I mused after we left the apothecary behind us. “He would have thrown a fit.”

“You should get a souvenir for him anyway,” Eris replied with a mischievous look. “It would be funny.”

“Indeed, it would remind him that he does exceptional work.” I'd read enough of Colmar's journals to know that he still blamed himself for failing to save Hero's Rest. All his successes since mattered little when weighed against his past guilt. “Did you know his secret?”

“I've told you before, no? I keep everybody's secrets.” Eris’ smile darkened slightly. “I've done my best to clear the remaining nightseed gardens since he informed me of their existence.”

“Did you succeed?” The world would be better off without plague-spreading plants around.

“Not yet.” Eris let out a sigh. “Worse, I suspect the Knot of Sloth's herbalists are trying to breed a more virulent variant. The Ranger is hunting them down in the Arcadian Freeholds.”

I mulled over that information while glancing at a nearby stand. An eagle-like birdkin trader valiantly attempted to sell off a feather mantle to a human visitor, to no avail. I found it strangely appropriate to see one right as we were discussing Colmar’s past.

However, Eris did not share my amusement. Quite the contrary, she began to scowl and hold my sleeve awkwardly. Did the birdkin bother her somehow?

“The more times change, Robin,” Eris said with a hint of sorrow, “the more they stay the same.”

I wondered what she meant until I noticed that this trader was the only beastkin in the market… and that fewer clients stopped at his establishment than those of his competitors.

How disappointing. Walbourg was more tolerant of beastkin than Archfrost, in that they allowed them into their city to trade or work, but they remained a distrusted minority.

I briefly hesitated to visit his stand since it seemed to bother Eris, before deciding that I should at least show a fellow merchant some support. Thankfully, Eris quickly regained her composure and joined me in looking over his wares. A few robes attracted my attention. I touched the texture, smooth and yet incredibly strong.

“Is this monarch-made silk?” I asked the merchant in Arcadian. If I’d guessed right, then he had to come from the Freeholds.

“You have a good eye, sir,” the birdkin complimented me in the same tongue. “Monarch silk, straight from Alfland.”

Now he had truly caught my interest. The monarchs were a rare breed of butterfly beastkin from the Arcadian Freeholds. Their city, Alfland, earned representative seats in the government after supporting its independence. Most high-quality silk in the west came from their weavers.

“I’ll sell this one for six-hundred silver,” the merchant said upon presenting me with a splendid, spider-woven purple dress. “It’ll look good on your lady.”

“We are only very good friends,” Eris replied slyly. Whatever bothered her about the birdkin, she hid it well. “But I wouldn’t mind a new dress, Robin.”

I was starting to wonder if she’d truly shed her demonic greed. I squinted at the robes in skepticism. The silk didn’t seem to be counterfeit—I had purchased enough weaver skills to tell—but the price bothered me.

“When I approached silk suppliers for a special project, they offered me a price of one-thousand and two hundred silver coins per pound of unprocessed monarch silk,” I informed the birdkin merchant. The exorbitant cost forced us to use a lesser quality fiber for the airship’s balloon. “Yet you offer to sell me the same weight of processed silk for half the price. Why’s that?”

The eagle-faced beastkin tilted his beak in a way that reminded me of Colmar. “Were those same suppliers humans, sir? I’d assume so.”

“Ah, I get it.” I chuckled. “Monarchs rip off their human customers? That’s fair.”

“No, no,” Eris replied. “They just give fellow beastkin preferential treatment.”

“You’ll find no cheaper silk than mine,” the beastkin trader boasted. Which was probably true. “I’ve got friends in Alfland. If you want the finest clothes, I’ll fly straight to the source.”

“If so, then you may have a deal,” I said upon putting the dress back on the stand, much to Eris’ chagrin. “I am more interested in buying unprocessed silk in bulk.”

The beastkin rubbed his feathers, which were as white as snow. “Are you a fellow merchant?”

“In a way,” I replied. Thankfully, word of my true identity hadn’t spread yet. “I come from Archfrost.”

“I see, I see.” From the beastkin’s dejected expression, he most likely wouldn’t be allowed through the border. “You will make a nice profit selling the silk back in your homeland, sir.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. I might explore it further after completing the airship project. Monarch silk was about as strong as spiders’ web, so it would help deal with some of the technical issues that Mr. Fronan and Marika encountered.

I took a look at the rest of his wares, mostly clothes, candles, and trinkets straight from the Arcadian Freeholds. To my joy, the birdkin’s prices were much fairer than his local competitors. I supposed the merchant had no other choice in order to attract clients. He sold red beeswax candles at five copper pieces, twenty-five for a pound’s worth. Considering they were much cheaper than any in Archfrost, I suspected he also obtained them from Alfland.

“What are those symbols supposed to represent?” I inquired upon studying the candles. All of them showed weblike, complex patterns on their surface.

“It’s a tradition in Alfland to mark one’s candles with identification marks,” Eris explained to me. “This helps identify the craftsmen and the hives from which they came from.”

Her knowledge clearly impressed the birdkin. “Milady has visited Alfland?”

“Only once,” Eris replied, before giggling upon noticing my curious stare. “I’ll tell you another time, Robin… but only if you buy me a gift.”

“You mean a bribe?” I asked mirthfully.

“Details, details.”

The birdkin merchant immediately jumped on the opportunity. “If you don’t like the symbols, sir, I can shave their surface off and write your lady’s name instead.”

"It seems wrong to erase cultural markers," I said, slightly uneasy with the proposal.

"Do not worry, sir, we do it all the time," the birdkin replied. "These symbols are only meant to help trace the craftsmen if required. They have no sacred significance."

In that case, I guessed I could go along with shaving off the wax. Now that I thought of it, beeswax was quite the malleable and durable material. You could write highly detailed patterns on its surface, much like a runestone.

An idea quickly crossed my mind.

“You know what, you have a deal,” I told the merchant. “What’s your name, my fellow traveler on the path of commercial success?”

“Aiglemont, if it pleases you,” he answered with a short bow.

“I’ll take a candle with my very good friend’s name on it, Aiglemont,” I said. “And ten pounds of shaved, blank candles.”

“Ten pounds?” Aiglemont stared at me as if I’d gone mad. “Are you buying on a temple’s behalf, sir?”

“No, an inventor’s.” If my intuition was correct, that wax would help me further the soundstone project. “I’ll pay in advance for the work, of course. Could you deliver it to our dwelling tomorrow? I’d also like to discuss buying unprocessed silk from you too, but I need to consult other partners first.”

Aiglemont straightened up. “I'd be very pleased to deliver on your order, sir, but it might be best if you were to send someone to pick it up. If others see me at your house, they will… they will talk.”

“Let them,” I replied as I handed him his payment. “Anyone who gives me the cold shoulder for speaking with another, whether they have hair or feathers, is not worth my time.”

Aiglemont looked at me in disbelief, but he wisely accepted the coins without further comment. He agreed to pass by tomorrow morning with my order, and Eris inscribed her name on a piece of paper for future marking.

She did not write down the Daltia part.

“I would have preferred the dress,” Eris said after we left the stand behind. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Everything for my very good friend,” I said as we sat on the banks of a nearby fountain. A statue of the past Ranger, Wal the Willful, riding a giant deer stood in its center, grim and vigilant.

“You didn’t answer me when I asked where my confession left us, so I had to assume.” Eris gave me a blank look. “Was I wrong?”

“No, you weren’t.” I shrugged. “But I’m close friends with an undead, so why not an ex-demon too?”

“I knew you had a crush on Colmar too,” Eris joked. I immediately noticed the spark of relief in her eyes. “All these nights working together on science projects were but the start of a romance transcending gender, species, and the grave.”

I chuckled back. “We’re very much alike, you and I.”

“We love to ruffle feathers?”

“We both use jokes to lighten the mood.” I looked into the fountain’s water. Visitors had thrown copper coins into it, probably as a tribute and prayer to the late Ranger. “That’s how we deal with tension.”

Eris crossed her legs, her smile all gone. “I admit I’m a bit reassured, Robin,” she confessed. “I was afraid you would try to burn me at the pyre.”

I scoffed. “Do I look like the inquisitor type to you?”

“You never know how people react to these things.” Eris took a long, deep breath. “I was scared you would think that I’m lying to you, try to strike before I could escape, that sort of thing.”

“Is that why you were afraid to commit?” I asked her. “Because you wanted to avoid rejection?”

Eris hesitated a moment before answering, “Yes, I was.”

It must have been difficult for her to take the risk at all. We Heroes were created to destroy the Demon Ancestors. A few among us would have probably skipped straight to striking first and asking questions never.

“You should tell the others eventually,” I said. “Maybe not now, but one day. Colmar would understand at least.”

“Understanding is one thing, but to accept is another.” Eris’ expression turned somber. “Did Colmar tell you that he found the first beastkin’s remains under Hero’s Rest?”

“I read it in his journals.”

Eris glanced at Aiglemont. The birdkin patiently waited for new clients to stop at his stand. Few did.

“It was I,” she said with a grim, dead voice, “who helped Belsara create the first beastkin.”

Her words hit me like a cold shower. A chill traveled down my spine as I listened in utter silence.

“Back then I’d already figured out collective perception influenced our marks,” Eris continued, while carefully avoiding my gaze. “Belsara cleverly realized that if she made humans just beastly-looking enough for others to consider them as beasts, then her power would let her control them.”

A wave of nausea and disgust overwhelmed me. I covered my mouth with my hand so as not to puke.

“So she asked me to use the Merchant’s mark to merge human slaves with animals.” Eris paused for a moment, as if afraid to put one last pinch of salt on an open wound. “Hundreds died before we could refine the process.”

The deep guilt and shame in her voice sounded sincere enough. And she was right to feel that way. Neither of us dared to look at Aiglemont; Eris, because it reminded her of a terrible crime; and I because I felt terribly sorry for him.

How would that poor birdkin react if he learned his ancestors had been made to look like animals so they would be seen as them? That the rejection humans felt toward his kind had been planned from the very start? All so a mad Ranger could have slaves to command?

That’s horrifying. After recovering, I finally managed to look at Aiglemont with a fresh new look, and a great deal of sympathy. I can’t stay idle.

“I have committed unforgivable crimes, Robin. Do you think Colmar would tolerate my presence if I confessed this one?” Eris didn’t wait for me to answer. “He would wish me dead, and he would be right to. Truthfully, I’m not certain I can trust myself at all, let alone others.”

I crossed my arms. I’d be lying if I said her confession didn’t affect me. It horrified me the same way Cortaner’s own admission of slaughtering whole villages for coins did. I was no priest, but maybe Eris was right. There were crimes beyond forgiveness. Creating the beastkin was one of those.

Few of the Heroes would accept the truth about Eris either, at least for now. Roland and I suspected the marks often chose people hurt by the Demon Ancestors so they would have proper motivation. A few of us wouldn’t think twice about condemning Eris. They wouldn’t agree that her rehabilitation was sincere.

However… The way Eris avoided looking at Aiglemont, the shame in her eyes, the heavy remorses in her voice… They told me a lot about her.

“You regret it,” I stated.

“I regret everything,” Eris replied dryly. “I can’t go back and change the person I was, but I can become someone else. Someone better.”

“You can become a better person if you try,” I replied. Everyone could if they put in the effort. “But you can’t become someone else.”

“Why not?” Eris shrugged her shoulders. “If you wear a mask long enough, your face will grow to fit it.”

I meditated on her words. Much of her behavior made a lot more sense to me now. She sought to bury and forget her past, not find peace with it. To keep running from herself, to change bit by bit until she became unrecognizable from the Devil she used to be.

I wasn’t one to judge, but it sounded like a very unhealthy way to live to me.

“I’m not sure it’ll work,” I said. “You were you then, you are you now. What you did is part of you.”

“I don’t want to be me, Robin.” Eris looked away. “I’m still connected to her. She’s greed incarnate, so she wants me back.”

“That must be why she gave me hints,” I guessed. “She wanted me to drive you away. To isolate you.”

“Maybe.” Eris winked at me, as she always did when trying to lighten the mood. “Or maybe she likes you too. I wonder how much I influence her too.”

“She knew you’d sold me your ability to lie once at least,” I pointed out.

“I don’t think she can spy on all of your deals, or the Knots of Greed would have warned the Regent’s army of your quick advance, but she can probably sense whenever we conclude one,” Eris suggested. “The old and new Merchant classes are connected too. That’s why you saw one of my memories when you triggered the failsafe and hijacked my other self’s pact with Sebastian.”

I would have to be careful when I used my power near demons then. If I could glimpse into the Devil of Greed’s memories when I triggered my mark’s failsafe, the reverse might be true.

“You’re not the only one of us with skeletons in their closet,” I argued in an attempt to comfort her. “So do Cortaner, Soraseo, Mersie…”

“They have skeletons, I’ve filled graveyards,” Eris replied grimly. My words had fallen flat. “I appreciate the attempt at support, Robin, but if we gathered all the sins your current generation committed in their entire lifetime… it wouldn’t equal a thousandth of the atrocities I’ve left behind me.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded. I could hardly argue with that. “However, you are trying to turn your life around. No matter the crimes you’ve committed, you’re putting an effort into rehabilitation for little to no benefit to yourself. That’s commendable.”

Eris met my gaze. I could tell she studied my face, looking for any hint of a lie.

“I like you, Robin,” she said upon finding nothing, “but sometimes you sound awfully naïve.”

“If I had a choice between seeing the shit in everything or the bright side, I’ll always pick the latter.” I would rather try to improve things and fail than never attempt anything at all. “I’m not sure how I can help, but… I’ll do my best to support you, whatever may come.”

“Thank you.” Eris smiled at me, though there was a sad edge to it. “That means a lot to me.”

I knew it did. Somehow, I had the feeling Eris struggled to believe in her own rehabilitation. I supported her attempt to atone for her past, but the way she sought to dissociate herself from it by lying to herself and everyone around her unnerved me. A face might grow to fit a mask, but the body and mind would never forget.

In a way, she reminded me of Mersie; but whereas my old lover could not let go of her past, Eris was trying to run from it. Neither option seemed good to me.

Maybe Eris would realize that with time. It would take a while, and she half-expected to stumble at one point or another on her way to redemption already. Henceforth, it was my job to catch her before she could fall. To make sure she felt supported enough to stick to the right path.

“If you’re afraid of being pulled back in with the Devil of Greed, why collect her coins?” I asked her. “I understand you might want to correct your own mistakes, but exposing yourself to the Devil of Greed’s treasures sounds risky.”

“No one else can handle the Devil Coins safely. They contain shards of my other self’s will. She can subtly influence the desires of those who hold them. Not too much, but enough to compel them into making mistakes.”

Influence? “I handled them just fine in the past.”

“Did you, truly?” Eris put a finger on her lips. “Let me guess… When you captured Sebastian, you confiscated his Devil Coin. You felt the urge to keep him alive, even when it became clear it would be to your detriment. I’m sure you thought of bringing him to Roland like a trophy.”

I tensed up at her words. She’d nailed it. Eris took my embarrassed silence for what it was: a confirmation.

“It made sense to you at the time, of course,” she said. “He was more valuable alive than dead. He held information that could help you, Roland, and everyone else.”

“But it was greed,” I realized, my fists curled into fists. Why didn’t I see it before? Marika informed me that Belgoroth’s sword drove others to rage. Of course carrying a Devil Coin wouldn’t be without its consequences. “Plain and simple.”

“Greed that nearly cost us the Knight,” Eris confirmed. “Don’t blame yourself. They didn’t call me the Golden Strategist for nothing. Without being too modest, I was the team’s brain.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not the Mage?”

“You’d be surprised,” Eris replied, slightly amused by my skepticism. “It is one thing to be knowledgeable and another to be wise. Lahmia never learned that lesson.”

“Lahmia?” The name didn’t ring any bells, but I could warrant a guess. “You mean the first Mage?”

“She’s the Lich of Gluttony now. She hungers for knowledge more than anything. Once she read and wrote books; now she simply consumes them and their writers both.” Eris shook her head. “Anyway, unlike the other Demon Ancestors, my other self exists as a consciousness bound to the coins. She has no body of her own left, not since I left.”

“So if we gather all the Devil Coins and bury them under a Sanctuary, she will be trapped there forever,” I guessed. “Unable to influence the world or break out on her own.”

“That’s the plan,” Eris replied. “Bury my old treasures and my sins along with it.

Easier said than done. “How many Devil Coins did you create?”

“Too many to remember.” Eris scowled darkly. “Splitting my essence through so many coins diminished their individual power, but as you can guess it made it near impossible to contain the demon I became.”

Daltia warned me that, unlike the other Demon Ancestors, neither the Heroes nor the Arcane Abbey managed to fully seal her away. Seven centuries of tireless work by our predecessors failed to gather all the Devil Coins. Eris’ cooperation might tip the scales, but it was equally likely the task would take more than one lifetime to complete.

“She’s feeding the souls she collects to something, though I couldn’t tell what,” I warned Eris, whose head snapped up in alarm. “Any idea what it might be? An artificial Artifact? A new Demon Ancestor?”

“I’m not sure. I don't have all my past memories since the split.” Eris crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. “However, I have my suspicions. Souls influence our collective consciousness, and thus how the Seven Great Classes work.”

“And since she owns the souls, she can do whatever she wants with them.” Which could only spell disaster. “If she possesses enough minds that believe she owns the world–”

“Then she will as far as our powers are concerned,” Eris confirmed. “It has always been my goal since I fell, to own everything and everyone.”

A prospect I did not relish in the slightest.

I considered our priorities. The Devil of Greed’s plan was as insidious as it was terrible for the world’s future. If she collected enough souls to shape the collective flow of essence, then she would become invincible.

However, she still hadn’t reached that tipping point after centuries of effort. It might take her decades more effort to complete her plan; whereas her colleagues threatened us here and now.

“The Devil of Greed is a long-term problem,” I decided. “We must deal with Belgoroth before he sets the world on fire first.”

“Agreed.” Eris rose up. “Come with me.”

“To where?” I asked, confused.

“To the cathedral.” Eris winked at me. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I quickly guessed who: the very Hero leading the Reformist movement.

Entering the cathedral proved easier than I expected considering the sheer number of guards and soldiers protecting its perimeter. Eris had been a regular visitor as the Fatebinder’s envoy to the Reformists, so we were allowed past the great whitewood doors and into the nave. The smell of incense mixed with that of polished wood immediately filled my nostrils.

Walbourg’s cathedral was a relatively recent building, and an awe-inspiring one at that. Its stained windows of elemental runestones filled its aisles and transept center with an ethereal glow of countless dancing colors. The polished checkerboard floor guided the way to the altar, where marble statues of the Four Artifacts surrounded a hooded representation of the Goddess Herself. Most artists gave her a different mask, as her face remained ungraspable for mortals; Walbourg’s architects opted for a mirror of gold shining in the filtered sunlight.

I immediately noticed a very important detail, or rather, the absence of one. Most Arcane Abbey churches included altars dedicated to the Heroes. Not this one. While our marks were duly showcased on the stained-glass windows, the Reformists did not consider them objects of worship.

The cathedral was mostly empty at this hour, with only a few priests cleaning the nave and benches for tomorrow’s morning prayers. Guards led us to stairs leading upward to the belltower. As we ascended, I picked up on the distant sound of a pleasant organ symphony. Whoever lived at the summit was a damn good musician.

“Only four people in the world know my secrets,” Eris said as we climbed the stairs to the upper levels. “The two of us, Lady Alexios… and my confessor.”

I supposed even nuns needed someone to watch over them.

Eventually we reached the entrance of a solar located right under the belfry. Two Penitent Ones stood watch over its doors. Both of the armored behemoths were smaller than Cortaner, but just as intimidating to look at. The fact that a few Penitent Ones—easily the most radical order inside the Arcane Abbey—apparently sided with the Reformists warned me that the movement enjoyed broad support inside the church. The Fatebinder could no longer afford to ignore it.

“Lady Eris,” one of them said, his helmet turned in my direction. “Who is this man?”

“A very good friend of mine, and Prince Roland’s ambassador to Walbourg,” Eris replied with poise and grace. For a moment the naughty nun I was used to had been subsumed by an expert diplomat. “I promised to introduce him to Selestine.”

One of the armored inquisitors moved inside the solar to inform his mistress while the other checked me for weapons. I handed over my dagger and belongings without resisting. Considering who they were protecting, I couldn’t fault them for being careful.

By the time the other Penitent One returned the organ song had ended. “Lady Selestine consents to see you both,” he said upon opening the doors. “You may stay as long as you please.”

“Thank you,” I replied courteously as Eris and I were let through the doors. The Penitent Ones silently closed them behind us immediately afterward.

The solar we walked into was relatively well-furnished, but humbler than what I would expect from these kinds of rooms. An enchanted brazier burned with smokeless flame at its center next to a small canopied bed and a work table covered in books and parchments. The only window was open to let fresh air in. The place housed a small organ with pipes ascending to the ceiling; its musician rose from her seat to greet us with a warm smile.

“Welcome back, Eris,” she said with a small, soothing voice. “I see you brought a visitor?”

I had to admit, the sight of the woman gave me pause. I’d met demons and beastkin, but never a human looking like the one in front of me. Her smooth skin was paler than snow, even more than the humble white robes she dressed in. Her cascading hair was a light shade of blue and bound by a small diadem of silver. Her eyes, meanwhile, showed a deep shade of crimson. She was thin too, so much I could see her cheekbones. A golden mark shone on her collarbone; the very lozenge-shaped symbol of the Arcane Abbey itself alongside the Erebian numeral for the number five.

“Robin, let me introduce you to Selestine, the Priest of our age,” Eris said. “Selestine, this is Robin, the Merchant.”

“I had guessed,” the Priest replied with a small chuckle. She quickly studied me before taking my hands into her own. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Robin.”

Her fingers were warm to the touch; unnaturally so. I could sense the heat through my gloves. I might as well have touched an oven.

Some might have found the woman graceful, even beautiful, but not I. Something about her ethereal appearance did not put me at ease. She felt… otherworldly, for a lack of a better term. Colmar himself seemed more human-like than she did.

Still, I hid my unease behind a smile and returned the kind gesture. “The feeling is mutual, Lady Selestine.”

“No need to be so formal with me. We are all equals in the Goddess’ eyes.” She let go of my hands and invited us to sit at her table. “I do not have refreshments, but I can ask someone to fetch some if you want.”

I raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled. “You do not keep a jug of water or anything?”

Selestine shook her head. “I do not need to drink.”

“Because of your class?” I asked, probing for information.

“No, no.” Selestine touched the mark on her collarbone. “My mark allows my voice to directly reach the Four Artifacts. Whereas a man’s words may not often be heard among a cacophony of a thousand prayers, mine always are. It does not grant me any personal benefit.”

So as I suspected, she was not entirely human. It didn’t change anything to me—she was a Hero first and foremost—so I sat without pushing further.

“Some would say having the attention of four demigods is a great benefit in itself, Selestine,” Eris mused as we gathered around the table. “My Priest grew very frustrated when they stopped answering his prayers.”

Selestine widened at Eris and then back at me. When I showed little surprise, she quickly put two and two together.

“You’ve told him the truth,” she said.

“She has,” I confirmed. Considering how Eris trusted her with her secrets, I suspected she and Selestine were old friends. “The two of you go a long way back, don’t you?”

“We shared a convent long before our classes chose us,” Selestine confirmed. Her smile showcased teeth whiter than chalk. “We were as close as sisters.”

“I was a terrible influence on her,” Eris quipped. “Or maybe she was a good influence on me. I could never tell.”

“You give me too much credit, my friend,” Selestine replied before turning to face me. “If you have doubts, Robin, let me dispel them: I assure you that Eris’ attempt at redemption is genuine. She has my confidence and that of my aunt, the Fatebinder.”

“If both the Arcane Abbey and the Reformists agree on one thing, it must be true,” I half-joked. “I trust her already, but it’s good to have another confirmation.”

Lady Selestine joined her hands together. “My aunt and I do not see eye-to-eye on all matters, but that does not make us enemies. I hope we will achieve a consensus.”

“I do wonder how a Priest and a Fatebinder found themselves on different sides of a religious argument,” I said. “There must be an interesting story behind that schism.”

“There is one,” Eris confirmed. “It happened on the very night she received her mark too.”

Selestine nodded slightly and agreed to fulfill my curiosity. “Back when I lived in Erebia, a thunderstorm raged above a village near my convent,” she explained. “A lightning bolt struck the trees and started a wildfire, one that threatened to burn down the land.”

I could see what followed. “So you petitioned the Four Artifacts for help.”

Selestine nodded sharply. “The Windsword and the Seacup were willing to help while the Earthcoin remained neutral, but the Firewand disagreed. It wished for the fire to spread so that humans could build something new over it. It was only when I informed it that a set of priceless books would be destroyed that it agreed not to interfere.”

Eris looked away at this story. Unfortunately, it did not surprise me much. The Four Artifacts’ disputes were infamous.

“This is my power, Robin, if you can call it that. I can bring forth miracles.” Selestine pondered her next words a few seconds before continuing her tale. “The Four Artifacts oversee the flow of elemental essence that helps shape our world. The movement of air, the tremors in the earth, the spread of flames, the flow of water… They are less individuals and more forces of nature that must be placated. They do not truly understand mortals, no more than we understand them.”

“That is why they created the Fatebinder in the first place,” Eris said. “Since they couldn’t agree on how to deal with the Demon Ancestors, they delegated the ugly duty to a human.”

“Do I detect a hint of bitterness in your voice?” I asked.

“I am bitter.” Eris sneered. “Many tragedies could have been avoided if they had simply paid attention.”

“The Four Artifacts are in constant opposition and rarely agree on anything,” Selestine added. “My role as the Priest is to serve as a diplomat between the Four Artifacts and mortals. If I pray for the Seacup to divert a river without the Firewand’s blessing, it will dry up the land in retaliation. If I wish to call upon the Windsword to bless rebels against a corrupt authority, I must placate the Earthcoin first, for it always stands on the side of order.”

“You need a unanimous agreement from all Four Artifacts before you can get anything done,” I guessed.

“A task more difficult than it may seem, Lord Merchant.” Selestine let out a small sigh. “The best I can do is convince one to act and the others to let it happen. Getting all four of them to cooperate on anything is… near-impossible.”

It didn’t surprise me. According to the Scriptures, they had only ever cooperated three times: once when they helped the Goddess shape the world; when they assisted her in creating life; and when they forged the Classes.

“Our Classes are quite alike,” I commented. “We cannot do anything by ourselves, and we must barter for everything.”

I suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy for her. I understood her struggle very much. When her power worked, she could pull off miracles; but she could never force anything. She had to argue constantly to make any progress.

“In this case, my prayers were answered,” Selestine said as she continued her tale. “The Windsword and the Seacup summoned a downpour that put out the fire. There were no victims… through no effort of its inhabitants.”

The scowl on her face made me wonder.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “They didn’t try to save themselves?”

“No, they did not.” Selestine shook her head. “The villagers did not fetch water or try to put out the fire through their own efforts. Instead they prayed for me to save them. I do not blame them for seeking my help, but their inaction made me wonder if I had assisted them or held them back.”

I could see why it shook her faith. Whereas the Arcane Abbey worshiped the Heroes, the Reformists stopped at respecting them. The last one I encountered in Snowdrift resented the fact I meddled in local politics.

“I already sympathized with the Reformists before, but this incident solidified my faith,” Selestine explained. “My aunt believes that people need to believe we Heroes are their saviors, so that our marks may garner more essence and become more effective at countering the Demon Ancestors. I understand her reasoning, but I do not agree with it. Encouraging people to worship us holds them back. Instead of solving this world’s problems, they pray for us to do it for them.”

“We still can’t stand aside while demons run rampant,” I argued. I knew from experience that normal humans could do little when facing a monster like Dolganov or Fenrivos.

“Of course we cannot,” Lady Selestine quickly confirmed. “Do not misunderstand my words, Robin. I did not say we should do nothing. It is everyone’s duty to act for the betterment of others, and that includes us. However, we should encourage everyone to be heroes, even those who bear no marks.”

Eris shifted in her seat. “There’s another element to consider, Robin. An issue none of us have found a solution to yet.”

I glanced at her, my eyes lingering on the Wanderer’s mark on her cheek.

“The Devil of Greed survived your repentance,” I quickly guessed. “Their titles have become separate from their bearers, the same way our Classes can pass on. Even if we defeat your old colleagues, they will return or find successors.”

“The Demon Ancestors derive their strength from the ills of the world, Robin,” Eris confirmed. “War, poverty, inequalities, sloth… so long as our people cannot solve their own problems, the demons will never disappear.”

“Hence why they do their best to spread chaos and evil,” I replied. “The Knots had a hand in almost all of this century’s disasters.”

“They did and still do,” Selestine replied with a sad, sorrowful smile. “But few need a demon’s help to sin. Nobles possess the power of life and death over commoners. Humans force beastmen to live at the fringes of society, even though they aren’t that different from them at the end of the day. The Iremian Magocracy and the Shinkoku Empire terrorize weaker nations in their unquenchable thirst for land and resources…”

I mulled over her words. She had a point. Even if we won this current conflict by sealing the Demon Ancestors away, it wouldn’t solve all the world’s ills. Quite the contrary. So long as these problems persisted, the Demon Ancestors would eventually return in one form or another. They had waited seven centuries to resurface. It would happen again down the line.

However, I was not the kind to lose hope at the sight of a challenge.

“Fine,” I said. “We will defeat the Demon Ancestors the same way we’ll save Snowdrift from its Blight.”

By making the world a better place.

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