D.G. - Chapter 270 - YOUR GRACE

The midnight desert was beautiful. Serene and smooth; an embodiment of stillness and quietude, save for the gentle winds whistling a tune as old as time. Jiran, silent and all but invisible, glided over the dunes. The Voicer camp was easy to spot. Their cookfires still burned; pinpricks of light that drew the eye. Their scouts as well were lit up by Mana Omnis, standing despite their attempts to hide beneath the sand.

Jiran slowed before reaching the perimeter. While his presence was hard to feel with aura, as a moving target, he would be much simpler to spot. An unexpected burst of anger drew his brows down into a scowl. The Voicer camp was nowhere near the Graymin border. His people fought and died to protect the empire from the swarm of beasts, yet these scum swooped in when the dust was still settling, attempted to take the credit, then turned their backs on the defense of their homeland to pillage its people.

Why am I not wiping out the lot of them again? Ugh.

Jiran sighed in defeat, answering his unspoken question.

How many times have I turned enemies into allies? Still, there are some people that I really don't want as friends. Anyone willing to do what this army has done is right at the top of the list. At least their leadership is all damned in my eyes. As for the soldiers, following orders for fear of death is… Yeah, this is exactly why I wanted to leave it up to Olive.

Jiran's determination to get in and out quickly slipped away when he caught sight of someone wearing a familiar metal collar around their neck. The woman was in rough shape, wearing torn clothes and sporting a nasty limp. The only reason he held back his rage was the fact the woman was freely walking around.

It's still possible this isn't what it looks like. Slaves are legal in Skorahda, I've seen plenty of them. She's not being molested by any of the soldiers, so that's something.

Not willing to assume at the expense of possibly thousands of slaves, Jiran changed his target, seeking out the people taken from the nearby villages. Locating them in the army was as simple as finding the army itself: he followed the clanking of chains.

They were arranged in a ring within the middle of the Voicer camp, insulated from the very center by two rings of tents, and likewise surrounded on the outside by tens of thousands of bodies. Jiran was immensely relieved that for the most part, they were fine. Only a few sported injuries like the first woman he saw. He had no way to know if those were chronic issues, or something new. There were no signs of blood, and the only reason he felt something was off was their despondent attitudes. To a man, it was obvious they didn't want to be there.

Scanning the slaves, he was surprised to see tier fives among them, and even more shocked to recognize both of them. The two men were chained together with another familiar face. All three were slumped against a wagon with skis instead of wheels.

So this is where you ended up? I was curious why you weren't in Sanctum. Mystery solved, I guess. Don't go anywhere, Princess Vironia… I'll come back after dealing with Archbishop Daleese. She's lucky to have treated these people fairly well.

Jiran flew over the slaves and into the central camp. As far as he was concerned, so long as they were collared, slaves were exactly what they were. The archbishop wasn't in the largest tent. She was the sole occupant of a smaller tent at the outer edge of the central camp, unsurprisingly close to Vironia. Her manapool burned brightly, the energy within a tantalizing treat that Jiran would soon be relieving her of.

Before entering the tent, he pegged her with Gaze of Pediamus.

[Homo Santoris: (Tier 8 - Sapient - unevolved - Unknown affinity) (Concentration: 128) (Attributes: 2041) (Estimated Power: 292,000) A highly adaptive genus of humanoids evolved from the All-Father, Santoris. Abilities: Inferior mana control - Inferior elemental control favoring fire - Inferior auric proficiency - Minor grade Aspect: fire - Minor grade mana detection - Threat: Low]

She’s probably hundreds of seasons old. How hard did she work? How many close calls with death, all for gaze to consider her every achievement as inferior or minor. Brutal. Actually glad I can’t use it on myself. Might not like what I find. 

Jiran assumed her tent was so far from the other high-tier Voicers to throw off any would-be assassins. Her proximity to Vironia also ensured the princess would instantly be dragged into any conflict. It would have been clever against a normal opponent. He made it to the flaps of her tent without issue.

Peeking through a tiny gap in the fabric, he got his first normal look at the archbishop. She was a tall, thin woman. Gray hair at her temples winged sharp facial features. Her straight posture, immaculate military dress, and the hard line of her lips gave the impression of an academy’s hardass dean.

Jiran was ready to strike, but getting inside and close enough to use venom without her alerting anyone or blowing up the entire area presented some challenges. Her aura would instantly detect the flaps shifting, and her Concentration and attributes made her faster than Jiran under normal circumstances. However, with his aura already stuffed inside his body, he easily entered a state of Oneness. Aura, mana, and attributes allowed him to exceed her speed by a healthy margin.

He slid into the tent, mana leaking out to thin the air, embracing his arrival. A sigil-boosted Enthralling Touch overwhelmed her inferior mana control, plundering her energies. She spun, caught off guard by the sudden evacuation of her mana. Jiran’s hand clamped over her mouth, filling it with Mana Venom.

She tried to pull away but couldn’t break his grasp. She fell, pulling them both backward. Reaching behind her back, she produced a kris below Jiran’s peripheral. With his aura locked inside, and Foresight unavailable, he didn’t see the lightning-fast stab coming. The short dagger punched through his suit, sinking to the hilt in his stomach.

His muscles instinctively clamped onto the sharp metal, causing intense heat to radiate outward in nauseating waves. Mana Transcendence was already hard at work repairing the damage when aura arrested his fall. She took the knife down with her, its wavy blade doing just as much damage on the way out as it did going in.

Daleese’s aura slammed into him with enough force to shatter half the camp; her final act of defiance before venom stole her consciousness. Her desperate maneuver was no match for Jiran’s understanding of the soul. The aura resting on his skin flicked out, gathering the burst of force and countering it.

While successful, Jiran couldn’t be happy with the results of his ambush. Before admonishing himself, he focused on the wound stubbornly resisting his efforts to heal it.

Poison?

Jiran’s mana sectioned off the injury, not allowing blood to flow away from it. He pressed a hand over the hole, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Instead of wasting time and mana healing the wound caused by such a powerful weapon, Jiran gritted his teeth and cut out the flesh around the injury. He then quickly reformed healthy tissue for significantly less mana.

I’ve only ever fought with Foresight. Not being able to see a split second into the future makes dodging… hard. Venom’s point-blank range is an issue too. Shouldn’t have underestimated her. That’s the same kind of dagger that Andross used. If she had any mana left to activate it, I would have been in a tight spot, and a lot of innocent people would have died.

Breathing a sigh of relief at being whole again, he let more of his aura leak out, having already determined that no other auras were nearby enough to feel his.

Could have scouted more first and figured out the distance of the other auras to know she was the only one in range. Taking her down with my aspect slowing her would have been a lot safer.

Gheratros—Jiran’s sponsor—had telepathically shared some advice with him during their only meeting. Her words came back to him now, “It is not a lack of strength that kills ascenders. It is always a weakness exploited which eventually dooms us. I have observed.”

Yeah. I can see that now. Down an ability that I’ve always heavily relied on, I’m full of openings. I need to learn how to fight all over again. Fun.

Despite phantom pain still lancing through his gut, Jiran grinned, wondering who he could get to fill the role. He shunted the question off to one of his minds as Archbishop Daleese came to. She groaned, a hand to her temple. Her gaze wasn’t entirely blank, but there was little comprehension there.

This dose of venom was designed to simulate a dream-like state, though with a few minor details heavily imprinted into her mind.

“A-andross?! Is that you?!” Her voice was certainly loud enough to raise an alarm. 

Jiran didn’t allow any of it beyond a few meters. Her words echoed back to them as he scowled at her, “Control your voice, woman!”

“My apologies, Bishop!”

“Control your aura before you send the entire 3rd corps into a panic. I expected more of you. Perhaps it was a mistake to send you here.”

She flopped forward, head splitting the ground with a heavy impact, “I have failed you! Please, I request penance for my actions!”

Jiran frowned, his aura digging deep to stop her actions from causing the ground to shake. “Is this your idea of control? Despicable.” His interactions with Andross had been less than brief, but Jiran was confident the man had taken every opportunity to make those around him feel like crap.

Mana Venom filled in the gaps of his ruse, convincing her that the little oddities like the way he looked and sounded were perfectly normal. She didn’t seem to notice, shuddering in response to his words, “I am unworthy. Your will shall be done.”

Her aura and movements calmed, though Jiran didn’t relax at all, “Good. We will now review your actions to determine the extent of your… penance. First question: Why did you take those people from their homes?”

“As you said they would, the lost people of Skorahda are joyously uniting to fulfill the desires of the Voice. They embrace the calling with rapturous fervor.”

Jiran wanted to spit but kept his act together, “Rapturous fervor you say? Then tell me, why are they in chains? It would appear your efforts to convince them were hollow.”

“I did not shirk in this duty, Your Grace. They did choose to come, as we knew they would and should. As instructed, each village was notified that half their number must accompany us. The gathering of the chosen faithful is proceeding within the commanded timeline.”

Jiran’s voice held a guttural growl, rife with contempt, “So you say. And the chains?”

“They gladly wear them, all to donate their mana to the Voice, Your Grace.” 

So this is the empire you wanted, Andross? An empire in chains? I'm so glad we kicked your ass.

“Upon returning to Sanctum Santorum, you will surrender yourself for a year of penance.”

The archbishop gasped, daring to look up at Jiran with confused dread covering her sharp features, “A-a year, Your Grace? I-I will not survive.”

“Such is your failure. If you wish an escape from that fate, you will follow my new orders with a thousand times the effort you’ve so far displayed. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes! Your Grace!” Daleese once more smashed her face into the ground.

“Serio-did I not command you to control yourself?!” Jiran nearly slipped out of his role completely. Grinding his teeth, he continued to berate the woman, “You and your soldiers are not to endanger anyone who sets foot in this camp, be they friend or foe. You will submit yourself to the questioner I send, and you will answer her with absolute honesty.”

“The questioner, Your Grace?”

Jiran nodded, “That is correct. Princess Oliviala has heard the Voice. She will arrive at First Father’s dawn. You will greet her with the same respect you would show me.” Archbishop Daleese’s jaw fell open. She mouthed his words, ‘the same’ unable to comprehend what she heard. Jiran’s voice turned hard, “Perhaps another year is in order.”

“I will submit to Princess Oliviala for questioning! Not one man, woman, or child shall be harmed! I have heard your voice and shall obey, Your Grace!”

“Good. Now, release Princess Vironia and her guards, then personally escort them out of camp. Release them into the desert and do not attempt to follow them. I have plans for them, and they have nothing to do with you.”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

Jiran shuddered, disgusted.

Gross. Who would enjoy all this bowing and scraping every hour of every day? I’ll take Dokkuun’s crazy names, and Knife begging to stab anything that moves over this nonsense any day.