Chapter 110: Advice and Threats
The moment the word “witch” left his lips, a jolt of pure, instinctual terror shot through me. My muscles went rigid. But the old man’s gaze remained fixed on Jared, his eyes filled with a strange, earnest light. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He wasn’t talking about me.
Still, the name he’d spoken hung in the air like a curse. Joan of Arc. So she had existed in this world, too. The thought was a chilling one. Was the legendary Maid of Orléans, favored by God, a Paladin in this twisted history? Or had she been a witch? Or perhaps, in the grim calculus of this world, were they one and the same?
I had already guessed the insidious reasons the old man had laid out for Jared’s failure. It was the priests’ naked arrogance, their festering jealousy. They could never accept a child from the slums becoming a clergyman without their sanctimonious instruction. It would expose them for the hollow, powerless failures they truly were.
The old man had confirmed my suspicions. The Church, he’d explained, would make a grand show of adopting orphans to display their “benevolence,” yet they could not abide an orphan they had not chosen becoming a Paladin. He was not one of their own; his power was an affront to their control. They would praise the tame geniuses raised within their own hallowed walls, but if a child from the gutter could receive the grace of God, they would first mock him, then envy him, and finally, they would burn with a righteous need to destroy him.
How utterly, grotesquely predictable. The seven deadly sins were not just warnings in their holy book; they were the very tenets by which they lived. Pride, envy, and wrath—the three greatest poisons of the soul—were on full, grotesque display.
I said nothing, though I agreed with every bitter word. A deep suspicion of the old man had taken root in my mind. He had an ulterior motive; I could feel it. He spoke with the intimate contempt of a jilted lover, his connection to the Church a tangled, hateful thing.
“I understand.” Jared’s head was bowed, his brief hope crushed. I patted his shoulder, the gesture feeling small and inadequate.
“It’s alright,” I said softly. “A church like that isn’t worth joining. What matters is that you have this power. Think of what you can do now.”
A life of quiet servitude in the Church, free from the gnawing anxieties of hunger and fear, was an attractive fantasy. But it wasn’t our only path. With his extraordinary power and my strange, borrowed knowledge, our future was still a thing of blinding possibility.
“Yes, Parula is right.” Jared’s voice was thick with emotion. He turned to the old man. “Thank you, old sir. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have been reckless.” In the space of a few short minutes, he had come to trust this stranger completely.
“You’re welcome. I was merely passing by and saw a flicker of true talent. I could not stand to see a good seedling buried by arrogant fools.” The old man nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible gesture. “How about it? Do you want to come with me?”
“Eh?” A small, surprised sound escaped Jared’s lips. He hadn’t expected the invitation. I, however, was not surprised at all. The old man was finally revealing his true purpose.
“What do you want me to do?” Jared asked, a note of caution in his voice. The old man seemed friendly, but his offer was a blank page, a promise with no substance.
“Nothing at all. Simply come with us. I can teach you to become a true Paladin. That is your wish, is it not?” the old man said, and I could almost hear the kind smile in his voice.
A siren of alarm wailed in my mind. There was no such thing as a free lunch, especially not in this city. This man, who spoke only in riddles, who offered salvation without mentioning the price, was not to be trusted. He had a purpose, a design, and we were just two small, expendable pieces on his board.
Even an archdemon felt more honest. At least with Gremory, the price was clearly stated. This man offered only vague promises. How could anyone feel at ease with that? If his only desire was to train Jared as a tool, a living weapon for his own ends, that would be the best-case scenario. Kidnapping, luring into a cult, tricking into becoming a sacrifice—the dangers of this world were a bottomless, lightless pit, and I was only just beginning to glimpse its depths.
I squeezed Jared’s hand twice, a subtle, desperate signal. Don’t agree. Not yet. We need to know who he is.
Jared seemed moved, but after a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Can I bring Parula with me?”
The old man was silent for a long, heavy moment. “I’m afraid not,” he said at last. “I wish to take you for ascetic training. The girl will only slow your progress, and be a distraction to your spirit. We must travel to many places. She cannot come.”
“Then I cannot accept your offer. I’m sorry, old sir. Thank you for your kindness.” Jared’s refusal was absolute, without a trace of hesitation.
“That is… a pity.” The old man nodded. He was clearly a person of some standing; seeing Jared had reminded him of his younger self, and he had wished to offer his patronage. But he would not beg.
He stood to leave, then hesitated, turning back to us. “If you wish to improve, it is best you learn the Church’s rituals. You need not join them. Listen to the hymns and the psalms, attend the mass. You can disguise yourselves as commoners.”
“And remember,” the old man advised, his tone now a low, urgent warning, “do not think of yourself as special. Do not display your power before outsiders, especially in the light of day. Do not perform any obvious miracles.”
“I know. Is it because those priests will make things difficult for me?” Jared asked.
The old man’s unseen face seemed to darken. “Just assume that is the case,” he said, his voice grim. “Just remember it.”
With that, he turned and left. His pace was unhurried, yet in an instant, he had blended into the crowd and was gone. I watched the spot where he had vanished, a cold knot of unease twisting in my gut. His final words had not been a lure, but a genuine warning. There was a deeper meaning there, a threat that went far beyond the petty jealousies of a few priests in the Church?
Of course, I still knew too little to guess his meaning. For now, we would follow his advice. The last part, at least, felt like the truth.
“Parula, what should we do now?” Jared asked, his voice lost and uncertain.
“Nothing,” I said, a new purpose hardening my own resolve. “We just didn’t get into the Church. Our business here isn’t finished. Let’s go. We need to buy the materials for the potion.”
I had spent the night deciphering another section of the witch’s notes, confirming the specifics of Life Drain and translating the material lists for the Mana Elixir and the Cat’s Eye Potion.
In the grimoire’s opening section, the witch had written that every practitioner needed a wand. If one could not be found, a simple one could be fashioned from a wood that conducted magic, with the spiritual essence of a rare beast as its core. The notes listed woods like willow and fir, and spoke of dragon sinew, phoenix feathers, and unicorn hair. I was sorry to say I had no idea where to find any of them.
But the witch had added a practical, if disheartening, addendum. While high-level materials were a mystery, most of the lesser components could be found in the black market. And if all else failed, one could simply find a branch with a natural affinity for magic and use that as a substitute.
Is it really that simple, sis? I thought with a wry, internal smile. Unfortunately, I didn't know where the black market was either. If the archdemon hadn't given me a casting implement, I would have truly been reduced to scavenging for a suitable stick.
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