Chapter # 19 — Bad Influence

In preparations for the upcoming battle, Pïer decided to throw a small party–get the soldiers’ morale up and all.

After a short speech, the High Lord returned to our table, where the captain and I awaited. “Gents, after tonight, we’ll be heroes! What’s with the sullen expressions?” The captain and I exchanged brief glances, before he muttered. “I’m not sure how much I want to take the Tower, Milord.”

“Why?” Pïer looked at him, “I understand you’re afraid to face your brethren in battle, but—”

Taking my advices to heart, the High Lord tried to give yet another heart-riling speech, when I interrupted. “Respectfully, that’s not what he is worried about, Milord.”

“Then what is the problem here?”

Brows knitted in confusion, he wondered.

“It’s… It’s the—” Eyes glued to the bowl of soup in front of him, littered with pieces of meat even the guards scarcely got to eat, the pale captain suddenly moved, hurling up nothing but acidic fluids. Seeing this, Pïer instantly realized where the issue lied. “Is it the excrement?”

Taking a sip of my cup, I purposefully raised the sounds of my slurping to entertain myself with the sight of the captain gagging, retching. ‘The wiseman wasn’t wrong. The most happy and carefree are the evil ones.’

Lips raised, I chuckled in amusement and shrugged. “He’s questioning the necessity of taking back a ‘tainted’ land. His words, not mine.” Glaring at the pale-faced captain, Pïer remarked. “There lies a Monument, one of our people’s greatest inventions and a valuable tool of our advancement.”

“Covered in shit and piss.”

I happily reminded, and his glare quickly turned to me.

“What’s there to be disgusted of? It’s just wastes. You do it, I do it, the animals do it.” Pïer said haughtily. “I reckon even the Gods take dumps sometimes! Man up!”

“How delightful it’ll be to clean up that mess. The excrements were quite liquid-y, and in this weather? They should’ve dried up by now. Fear not the battle, my friend, fear the clean-up.”

This time, the captain couldn’t hold onto the content of his stomach any longer, and rushed to his feet. “We will have the rebels clean it up!” But words no longer registered in the captain’s mind as he rushed outside, to empty his belly if I had to guess…

Turning to find unamused eyes staring daggers at me, I raised my arms up in surrender. “Was that necessary?”

“Probably not, but it was hilarious,”

I admitted, then added seconds later as an afterthought. “Milord.”

“Why?” Pïer sighed.

“Do I need a reason to humor myself?”

“I know you, you never do something without a reason…” Pïer countered. “What purpose did that serve?”

Eyes glued to the flickering campfire, I explained. “Distraction, Milord. He was afraid. So frightened he’s on the verge of a panic attack.”

Though the disgust did cause him to vomit, he’s already queasy before from fear, “I merely directed his attention to something else. Better for our soldiers to feel grossed out than terrified out of their mind.”

Listening to the hurling outside, the High Lord threw me an accusing, yet resigned look. “You call that better? Why not just encourage him?” But encouragement wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. “What encouragement can convince a man to ride into what can possibly be his end? What can tempt a person to kill his own kind? When you can answer those questions, you’re ready, Milord.”

“Ready for what?”

“To be King.” I smiled in response.

“King?” He repeated in confusion, for unlike the Pleiguseans whose progression was normal—tribe; kingdom; empire…etc—the Sharrï hadn’t experienced absolute sovereignty. This was the only way for them to prolong their prosperity, save the Law-Bearers, the Universal Will or I intervening. "The absolute Ruler of the Sharrï, Milord… The One Above All… A God amongst Mortals.”

“You think too much.”

The High Lord laughed, yet his eyes seemed to light up at the prospect.

“Remember what you told me, ‘I do not have such aspirations’?” The High Lord repeated to me. “Right back at you, Sharru.”

But we both knew it was a lie.

If not for the protections I granted him with my mere presence, Besotte would’ve claimed Pïer as one of hers already…

“You need not hide from me. We’re friends, are we not?”

The whispers behind his back; the hateful glares; the insults to his wife for coming from the lower castes had stoked inside him an inextinguishable flame. The Sages still sought to uphold the current Order, heedless of their slipping authority, while Pïer’s true goal was to usurp it and impose his. “Destabilization; chaos and solution, Milord. Luckily for you, thanks to the Sages’ poor management and the disasters your people have recently suffered, your path will be smoother than most.”

One hand holding my pen; the other the tablet littered with primitive carvings, I reminded.

“The time is ripe, Milord. It will not get better than this. The Gods favor you.”

“But…?”

He questioned, reading my mind perfectly.

“But the Gods will not fight your battles. The people will. Show them you’re willing to do the dirtiest of work; that you’re willing to help them, and you’ll capture their hearts.”

He should know what to do now. “Still, be careful,” I cautioned. “Everything should be in moderation. Too much, and they’ll take your kindness for granted. Develop too fast, and the Sages will take more drastic measures.”

“You’re hovering again.”

We shared a hearty laugh, and then the Lord’s attention shifted towards the clay tablet situated next to me, arousing his curiosity. “You seem quite fascinated by these objects… What are they exactly?”

“They are historical artifacts. Someone has to document these events,” I explained.

“Why is that necessary?”

“Sharru is a condensed form of Tupsharru…”

I hesitated, before settling for a harmless lie.

“It is a language devised by a skilled scholar from Paradisean. It means ‘the scribe’… After all, what value do great achievements hold if there is no one to immortalize them? How will future generations come to know about you and your accomplishments?”

“Do we not have better means to document this?”

Trembling slightly, I added, “But then you’d be a mere mortal. I need you to become a mythical figure… One who will be revered and admired by future generations; a source of inspiration for all who come after you. The First Sovereign of the Sharrï… The King above all Kings.”

With a swift movement of his hand, an invisible barrier enclosed us, shielding our conversation from the outside world.

“Tell me honestly, Sharru, are you a God?”

“Just an ordinary mortal, I’m afraid,”

I replied with a chuckle. ‘Well, at least in this mortal shell, that is. Technically, it’s not a lie.’

Although he didn’t press for further clarification, the suspicion lingered.

Nevertheless, neither of us dwelled on the matter, for what significance did our true nature hold? Mortal or Divine? We were simply friends and partners-in-crime.

Contrary to the usual mundane days, each passing moment seemed to stretch into infinity as the impending battle drew near.

Positioned upon a dune in close proximity to the now abandoned village, they all perched, gripping their Magic Staffs tightly, eagerly awaiting the signal.

At long last, a flicker of light illuminated the walls barring our entry to the Tower. “It’s time! Remember, aim for non-lethal methods! These are still our own people!” Pïer reminded them sternly.

Heeding my advices, Pïer had valiantly placed himself in the frontline, brandishing his Staff like a spear as we discreetly advanced towards the Tower, plagued by the putrid stench that immediately assaulted their senses. Yet, they endured, knowing better than to draw attention by voicing their disgust.

With one of the rebels under our control, his aim to secure a favorable outcome for him and his family once we retook Sharrä, the gates stood wide open.

Unfortunately for the rebels, the other guards had long been rendered unconscious, a courtesy of a knowledgeable local forager who put several pinches of dried and grinded sleep-inducing herbs which had adapted to harsh weather conditions.

It’s as I said, the citizens of Sharrä, whose livelihoods had been compromised and their houses flooded with excrements, couldn’t wait to rid themselves of the rebel force.

Many even saw themselves as harmless hostages and the rebels kidnappers.

The loyalists moved stealthily into their structures, quietly subduing the sleeping guards and confiscating their weapons before they could react.

However, one guard managed to wake up just in time, shrieking for help before the loyalist force swiftly subdued him.

Regrettably, this commotion aroused a handful of others who hastily attempted to alert their comrades. ‘Now, things are getting interesting.’ I thought to myself, a mischievous grin forming on my face.

A fierce firefight erupted between the two opposing forces, while I calmly sketched on the tablets I had brought, savoring a crimson grape as I intentionally minimized my presence. ‘The cameraman instructor would be proud.’

On the frontlines, the High Lord— the Mage King, casted, [Aquatic Splash].

One’d think his intention was to cleanse the Tower of the reeking filths, but it was followed up with another 1st Grade Spell, [Lightning].

The mechanics of how the Spell worked were fairly straightforward.

The more properties a spell had, the higher its tier. In this case, [Aquatic Splash] was classified as a 2nd Grade spell due to its two aspects: ‘Spawning water’ and ‘Splashing it at a desired speed.

The strength of the flow and amount of water depended on the Mana invested in it.

Pïer was using the bare minimum to conserve his Mana, a smart move on his part, especially since as one of the few currently engaging in a melee, he would need the spare Mana. The instance the thought hit me, Pïer was forced to cast [Shield] with his hand, using the flickering barrier to block the barrage of [Arcane Bolt] cutting his both his escape and advancement.

With a spin of his staff, he effortlessly blocked the incoming bolts, his Staff still crackling with electricity.

Despite being ankle-deep in literal waste, the High Lord somehow managed to exude a cool and composed demeanor as he swiftly incapacitated three rebels.

“You—” I turned to face one of the rebels, a Sharrï who seemed untouched by the wastes, strange. “You can see me?”

Activating [God Mode] once again, I smiled with amusement and motioned for the Sharrï girl to approach. She attempted to raise her staff, but with just a glance from me, it slipped from her hand harmlessly.

“Come…” I grabbed her chin, examining her soul, only to find a whole lot of nothing. “How are you able to do this? What are you?”

Feeling a surge of frustration, I narrowed down the possibilities.

It could be either A) she was a Voidspawn, or B) she was an Agent of a powerful Deviant who had outmaneuvered both me and Will, and managed to send someone into Paradis without our notice. “Answer!”

The entire fabric of existence seemed to pause as I superseded the Laws of reality.

Even the Will trembled, while the Paradiseans, who were the weakest on the Celestial scale at the moment, remained oblivious to the events.

Although Paradis had deviated significantly from my original intentions, it remained my Creation. I was willing to defend it, and if she posed a threat to its existence, she must be eliminated. “Father,” I tilted my head, “What game are you playing?”

“It hurts,” She replied, provoking a chilling laugh from me. “That’s the point.”

“Not just this, Father. All of Existence… It’s chipping away at me. Make it stop.”

She pleaded, but I would have remembered creating someone like her. Left with no choice, I forcefully dragged the mysterious Sharrï to Lysara. ‘A fresh perspective is necessary…’

Time resumed as I casually produced another Clone hidden in one of the secure hideouts where the citizens sought refuge.

That Clone would bring the demise for Sharru the Sharrï.

Returning my focus to the ongoing battle, I observed as soldiers from both sides relentlessly unleashed Spells upon each other.

The Magic Staffs, in the absence of a Mage to wield them, were limited in the number of Spells available: [Telekinesis], [Arcane Bolt], and [Shield].

Consequently, the battle grew repetitive, with most individuals seeking cover and using [Shield] like the thing’s going out of style, while their comrades launched attacks and peered over barriers.

Pïer, however, with his exceptional elemental manipulation, was like a beacon. ‘To rule, one must first lead.’

I once told him,

 Looked like he took that advice to heart.

The soldiers though…

I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Nevertheless, with over dozens of rebels already defeated and the rest scrambling to get dressed and grab their Magic Staffs, the loyalists held the advantage, especially with the High Lord actively involved in the midst of the chaos.

His movements lacked grace, and his strikes lacked precision, yet the sheer versatility of his Magic and his unwavering courage allowed him to overpower most adversaries with relative ease– that is, until the rebel leader confronted him in the bustling square. “Mage! Face me!”

While the others, including Pïer, wielded a single Staff, the leader demonstrated impressive prowess by dual-wielding the Staffs, akin to a skilled warrior brandishing blades, or a weeb with an unhealthy obsession to katana. He’s so good, I even contemplated giving him the Achievement: [I know Kungfu],

Accompanied by its corresponding Law, of course.

However, despite his proficiency in combat, there was an intangible element missing from his fighting style– something crucial, yet elusive. It was only upon delving into the depths of his Soul that I finally grasped the issue.

He lacked a distinct fighting style, relying solely on his superior reflexes to react.

I must give him credit, as the way he wielded the Staffs proved to be highly efficient. Opening by hurling a table at Pïer with [Telekinesis], while simultaneously deflecting the onslaught of bolts exchanged between the two sides. Beads of sweat dripped down the faces of both men as the protective [Shield] clashed with several bolts.

Eventually, the rebel leader managed to break through Pïer’s defense.

In a matter of moments, the once mighty High Lord was brought low.

With his enemy vulnerable, the rebel leader confidently pressed the button on his Staff, prepared to put an abrupt end to Pïer’s dreams of supremacy.

However, the realization struck him like an eighteen-wheeler hurling down a cliff– “It’s empty?” With the intensity of the Spells they had been unleashing, even Pïer had exhausted his Mana Pool, a self-replenishing source, let alone the Vault Crystal of the rebel leader.

Swift to adapt, the rebel turned his Staff into a makeshift club, bringing it crashing towards Pïer’s head. Furrowing my brows, I shifted my gaze to the High Lord. “Is this the conclusion of your Path?”

It couldn’t be, right?

So much of the Sharrï’s collective Providence was flowing to him, there had to be a reason for it.

Not one to disappoint, Pïer rolled to the side in an instant, tightly gripping the empty Magic Staff, and channeled a surge of electricity that jolted both combatants.

The moment the Spell stopped, the two immediately released the Staff on instinct, and without his weapons, this was a fight the rebel would never win, not in a million years.

“You’re good—!” Shooting an [Arcane Bolt] which imbedded in the rebel’s shoulder, Pïer’s crashed shoulder-first into the rebel, who tried to recover from the blow by flapping his clipped wings.

Rolling into a tangle of limbs, the leaders of the loyalists and the rebels kicked, punched, even bit each other.

The outcome was obvious…

By the time they stopped, Pïer was kneeling over the rebel leader, knee on his throat, an [Arcane Bolt] hovering above his face and right between his eyes. The rebels screamed out for their leader, who remained motionless. “Do it.”

“You won’t beg?”

“I fought for my people, and I lost.”

He admitted weakly. “End it… Do what you must.”

Staring at the resigned man, the High Lord unleashed a bolt which rattled a section of the wall. “No… We are the same people. We don’t have to kill each other,” Pïer whispered, his voice eerily similar to mine when I was trying to ‘convince’ someone of something. “I really am being a bad influence on them…”

“What are you saying?”

The rebel glared.

“I’m saying we want the same thing. My wife’s a Non-Mage, we’ve suffered ridicules and mockery due to her status. Lowborn, they’d call her. I want to change this, I want to allow the Non-Mage the ability to rise up the ladder, but I alone am not enough.”

The rebels and loyalists, too far away, couldn’t hear their conversation, but I could—loud and clear. “Support me, and I’ll show you the world of my vision.”

Skeptical, and understandably so, the rebel leader asked. “How do I know if you’re lying or not?”

“Well,” Pïer gestured at their position. “What good will tricking you do? I’ve already won.”

After some careful considerations, the Lord added. “It’s me who convinced the Council to spare you all,”

Already using half-truths? ‘I raised that boy.’

And I couldn’t be any prouder.

“Pledge your allegiance to me, and I swear you’ll never be slaves again!”

He declared, expression reflecting perfectly the rage in the rebels’ hearts—the reason for the rebellion. “How long?”

“I need some time to prepare, but it’ll happen in our lifetime. You have my words.”

This was the moment Pïer gained his first general,

“Die, loyalist scum!” My Clone shot up, and someone just ‘happened’ to bump into him, causing the [Arcane Bolt] to veer off mark and ‘accidentally’ pierce the space between my eyebrows.

It’s also the moment the Mage King lost his friend, teacher and advisor.

All sorts of emotions raged within his Soul—First to come was relief that he’d no longer have to fear and doubt me; then guilt as his mind finally comprehended what had just taken place.

Anxiously, he ran to my body, “Sharru?!”

But all signs of life had ceased when I cut connection to that mortal shell. All that’s left was a cold, unfeeling corpse.

Still, desperate to revive me, he had the soldiers nearby force-fed the corpse all their flasks, “Brother? C’mon, you’re not going to die that easily, are you?” Both the rebels and the loyalists appeared confused. ‘Why would a Mage shed tears over a Non-Mage servant?’

Such thoughts echoed in their minds,

What doubt the rebel leader still harbored earlier, was now completely gone.

‘The rest is up to you.’

I mused, before turning towards the Feline Goddess circling the unconscious Sharrï rebel who had somehow eluded even my gaze.

“So… Your judgement?”

“She is a Voidspawn, that’s without a doubt.”

My fists tightened as I prepared to strike down the filthy ‘creature’ which dared to taint Paradis with its presence, but Lysara’s following words swiftly stayed my hands.

“But the fact she’s your Creation—your daughter is also correct.”

I turned to her with wide, startled eyes.

“Huh?”