Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 72: True Master

Valens first started with the shoulders. Stress often piled in the back of a body, round the sides of one’s neck and down near one’s core. There would be pain in the head, and around one’s stomach as well. Churning mostly, without a clear reason. That, and the odd cramp that would come out of nowhere.

Sensitive work, really, but he might as well have been stabbing his Lifesurge needles into a stone block from how the Bishop’s muscles barely budged under his touch.

A touch more strength here.

The Bishop gave an ‘oh’ when Valens found just the spot. He followed it with an ‘ah’ when Valens cracked the joints in his knees to relieve the strain. He let out a trickle of saliva down his lips when Valens squeezed gently the pressure points of his neck. His tongue lolled out, and surprisingly, it didn’t look as hard as Valens expected.

I should get that diary right away, and start this stat study. If Strength makes your muscles hard as rocks, then there has to be a reason why it leaves out your tongue.

“Is this really happening?” Garran said when Valens worked an elbow down the Bishop’s right shoulder, trying to hear the ‘click’ of the bones. That made Valens pause for a second, and they stared at each other with the Templar. “What are you doing?”

“A calming, soothing session for the Bishop,” Valens said, then clamped his jaw shut as he pushed further into the Dawnkeeper’s back. Sweat dotted his forehead as he kept at the effort. “The man’s like a mountain. No wonder why he was that grumpy in our first meeting.”

Lenora stumbled a step against the sight, Mas equally baffled as he blinked at them. Captain Edric, on the other hand, seemed to have finished with his wallowing and was instead staring at the pair of them.

“We have an old saying,” Valens said, face straining as he finally popped that one stubborn muscle group in the Bishop’s back that had almost petrified there like a stone block. “If you want a healthy mind, you have to first take care of your body. The body carries the deeds of a man upon its shoulders. It shouldn’t be left unattended for too long, as you never know when it might crumble down.”

The Templars all had the ideal body types of a warrior, with Lenora looking like a muscled fairy. The activity of their work surely played a part in that as much as the stats, and if Garran had been right about his words, the Bishop himself had lived a life of constant battles and wars against the dwellers.

Trouble was, it was easy to let the tides carry you on through the troubling times. Easy to get lost in the job and forget the demanding work of keeping yourself healthy through all of it. So then, it shouldn’t come as a surprise when you take a soldier, or a Templar in this case, out of that chaotic life and put them in a city of thousands, often the case was that they would be helpless against troubles they knew not, rooted deep in their minds now that they had all the time in the world to think.

If only Intelligence gave you more intelligence, and Wisdom made you a little better at sorting out your deep troubles.

But it didn’t work that way. The mastermind behind the System made it so that those two stats worked solely on one’s mana, and nothing else.

“He should exercise,” Valens said. Such a simple thing, but it had to be said. “And weekly massage sessions will help with the stress as well. I’m not familiar with the intricacies of his Trial, but the least he could do is to take care of himself.”

“That…” Garran narrowed his eyes. “Actually makes sense.”

“The Priests are already attending him every other week, and he takes the remedy I’ve prepared myself.” Lenora seemed strangely offended at each ‘oh’ that escaped from the Bishop’s mouth, as if the very sound of the man’s relief was a stab at her own talents.

“Oh, the Sun’s Priests?” Valens said, rubbing the Bishop’s neck. “The ones who wave their hands around the patients like a magic trick, and expect the mana to find its own way into the wound? The ones who dump a barrel of water down a man’s head and think that’d be a remedy to their parched throat? Someone should give them a staff or two, at least that’d complete the ritual of their looks.”

That got him a few odd looks.

“But mana doesn’t work like that, does it?” he said. “Even if you have plenty source in your hand, you have to actually tame it. Make it so that it listens to every word of your commands and acts in the way it should. You have to be its master, its guide, for it is a tool to be used, not to be poured out senselessly.”

Valens shook his head and guided the Lifesurges into the Bishop’s brain. He could feel the lull there, the peace of a mind left so painfully alone that it began crumbling down on itself. He tugged at the man’s primal brain and jolted it awake. Allowed his mind to take back the control.

“Like this.”

“Hahh…” the Bishop gasped himself awake, coughed down at his own spit, and coughed himself out of it in a few seconds. He blinked wearily across the room, and blinked again as if he stared at this very study for the first time in his life.

“Radiant Father!” Mas jumped toward him, shouldering past Valens. The moment he reached the chair he stopped, face creasing, and kneeled beside the old man. “Master!”

“He’s coming to himself,” Garran muttered.

“That was quick,” Captain Edric nodded, and gave Valens a look. “You might want to stay a bit closer to me. You’ve seen what happened to the chair.”

A look down at the broken bits of the table made the decision for Valens. He walked back over to the captain and took his place between him and Garran.

I really want a set of armor as well.

“Blessed Father…” the Bishop croaked. Mas fetched him a glass of water right away while Lenora stood oddly silent with blood stains around her neck.

It’s not her first time, is what I’m getting from this scene. She doesn’t like the Bishop, but doesn’t hate him either. A complicated relationship.

There were nothing but complicated relationships in this world.

“Should’ve died there on the field,” the Bishop said when he downed the whole glass right away. It was the first time Valens saw something of a shame in his face. “Should’ve died there with honors! But no… The path is long, I’ve been told. Worthy of a man like myself, so they’ve said. And yet I’ve yet to see a speck of worth in this bloody city!”

The Bishop smacked a hand across his thigh, the sound of it thumping around the room. Valens felt a pang of nervous expectation when it looked like the man was about to give in to another fit. The Captain and the others tensed up. Mas even flinched back a little.

“You…” the Bishop raised a finger to Valens’s face. He scowled as he pulled himself to his feet, grunting with the effort, only to pause. He stared down at his legs. Banged the heel of his right foot to the ground. It didn’t click. He raised his arms as you would when you’re sure you’ve heard them break. It was one smooth motion that made the man pause.

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“That’ll pass,” Valens said. He might not have much respect for the way the Bishop treated him, but he’d learned better than to treat the matters of faith as lightly as he would in his old world. Occult and divine. Even the System said it. There was something Divine in this man, and that something was likely tied to the Blessed Father of the Sun’s Church.

Better to take the cautious road here. They have the numbers, after all.

“Pass?” the Bishop asked, voice uncertain.

“Indeed,” Valens said. “I’m afraid what I did was to treat the symptoms. The underlying issue still persists. As I’d say to any patient, you can’t expect the Healer to do all the work for you. You have to shoulder the responsibility as well. You’ve been treating yourself quite badly for these last few years, Bishop. Even a fool can see that.”

“Quite badly, you’ve said?” the Bishop frowned at him. “Am I truly hearing these words from a Healer? Or has the fit finally wormed its way deep into my mind?”

“About that matter…” Garran muttered.

“We were saying…” Captain Edric said.

“He’s the new recruit for the Golden Ward,” Lenora finally finished their thoughts. She eyed Valens from the side. “A Healer and a Hexmender both. Oh, he’s a Mage as well. Anything you want to add as it seems the list goes on and on?”

“Not now, no,” Valens nodded. “That’s about the gist of it.”

“Good,” Lenora sighed. “Then I suppose I’m speaking for everyone here when I say that our Bishop will get his weekly treatments from a true Master from now on, right?”

“Weekly treatments?” Valens echoed.

“My back feels smooth,” the Bishop said. “And that dream… I haven’t dreamt for the longest time.”

“Weekly treatments it is!” Lenora clapped. “Now let us give him the good news. I’m sure he will be quite pleased when he sees the perks that come with this job. I knew for a fact that they’re the sole reason why I still work in this soot-filled city.”

“Perks?” Valens arched an eyebrow.

“Perks,” Lenora said.

Now we’re just repeating each other’s words.

“Come on, then,” she gestured at him. “We’ll start with your monthly pay.”

Valens hesitated for a second when the woman made for the door. Just now the Bishop was about to put him into a cell, and call it a day, but now… he looked troubled, not in the same way he’d been against his own demons, but in a way that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure what would happen from now on.

We’re on the same page about that.

At least the captain and Garran looked happy with how things turned out, and that, to Valens, was a good sign.

……

“You should find a place right away. You don’t want to stay inside the Cathedral,” Garran said as they trudged across the corridor, a wide smile on his lips. “I know a guy who knows his stuff with the properties. I’ll have the disciples give him a notice about our new hire. But I’ll have to warn you, don’t expect much. Thanks to our new King and his hunger for trade, the rents have quadrupled in the last few years.”

“How much?” Valens asked. He didn’t know a single thing about the economy here, not even the currency they used, but it seemed a good question as any.

The higher the number the better, I’ve heard.

“About a hundred Caligian crowns and ten shillars,” Garran said. “But that’s not all of it. Once in a while we’ll get a rich patron, or a big case from the government. That’s where the real money’s at.”

“Government?” Valens said. The captain and Lenora were trailing them from behind, with Dain further back. Celme and others were waiting for him outside the Church, or so he’d been told, since they’d been escorted out of the Cathedral after the whole thing with the Bishop.

“The government,” Garran said. “I’d say that’s the best deal we got from the rule change. Ain’t that right, captain?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the captain said, face creased into a frown. It was as though the very presence of Lenora bothered him in a way that Valens couldn’t quite put into words. “I never cared much for money.”

“The old brute scarcely changes,” Lenora tipped her head. “I suppose that’s only normal when the only thing you fondle with your fingers is the leathery handle of a sword. It’s keeping you good company, I presume, that sword does, doesn’t it, Edric?”

Captain Edric’s fingers tightened. He almost reached for the handle of the sword, but clicked his tongue as he decided against it. “It does,” he grunted. “It knows no lies, no deceit, no devious games or plots. It does its job, and does it with silence.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lenora smiled. “What makes life worth living if you know every little detail of every second? Where’s the rush? The zest? You’re too young to act like an old man brooding in the dark of his room. Boring.”

“Boring is good,” the captain said. “I’d much prefer it to the unknown.”

“You have to cherish the little things, eh?” Lenora said, her face darkening. “If you do that, that’ll be the only thing you’ll get in your life.”

Now that’s more like it. The bad blood between the two goes deep as I thought.

“As I was saying,” Garran continued on. He seemed, all things considered, happy that the captain was the one who was taking the brunt of Lenora rather than him. “His Majesty King Edmund is a man of ambition, and is a celebrator of pragmatism. He thinks every man should have the chance to be rewarded according to his contributions, not on account of a higher idea that all men are equal.”

“Isn’t that against your Church’s beliefs, though?” Valens muttered. “If you push for a society where one’s merit is above the general well-being of the population, then the Church…”

“Exactly,” Garran said. “It used to be that the King answered to the Pope himself. Chosen, even, by His Holiness to ensure the stability with which the Melton Kingdom has managed to become one of the pillars of Haven’s Reach. Some people didn’t like it, though.”

“You mean the businessmen?”

Garran shook his head. There, in his eyes, was the same hungry expectation Valens saw before they entered the Cursed Rift. The sort of gleam that all the predators carry in the depths of their gazes.

“Not just them,” he said. “Back then, the only way to step foot on the Broken Lands without relying on a Trial or an occasional high-tiered Rift was the few Gates gifted by the Caligians to the kingdoms. And those ones were strictly governed by the Divine Orders, but when the Caligians made the information of their Gates public… Things took a drastic turn.”

“And when did that happen?” Valens asked.

“A hundred years ago,” Garran said.

“Isn’t that when Baht—“

“Yes,” Garran said. “Even if he’s failed, that rebellion paved the way for the rule change in the kingdom. Ask anyone round here. The Church hates that man’s guts.”

Interesting. At first thought, it doesn’t make much sense for a kingdom that kept such a valuable source to itself to suddenly release it to the public. But then, they have gifted a few Gates to the other kingdoms before. It was as if they were preparing for something.

“The point is,” Garran sighed. “With public access to the Gates, the old ways have crumbled in time, but more importantly, the trade shifted. New routes were opened. Giant cities have been built in the dead acres of the Broken Lands. More and more people started choosing dangerous classes.”

“And special classes, too.”

“And that, yes,” Garran nodded. “The Church tried to use this change to fuel our sacred war. We even opened war camps in the Broken Lands, and trained men there, but at one point those men we’d trained with our hands began leaving the Church. They established their own Guilds. We have become the minority in a short time while back in the day the Church had been mightier than the Kingdom’s army itself.”

If I understood it right, then back then you were the Kingdom’s army, friend.

Garran stopped. Captain Edric and the rest paused, looking at him. Valens gazed around to see if they were at the exit yet, but found only the dark walls about him. They were still underground. Still deep under the Cathedral.

“The things I’ve told you about,” Garran said suddenly, looking at him with eyes squinted. “There wasn’t a secret in any of that. You should already know all of that, right?”

Valens swallowed. “Right…”

Garran smiled. He stretched a hand out, and his palm settled on Valens’s shoulder. He winced when the Templar’s fingers tightened around his flesh. That smile on his face… It didn’t look right.

“Wha—“

“Just one thing,” Garran shushed him. “If you knew all of that, then why in the Nine Hells did you look like you didn’t know a shit about any of it?”

There was a pause.

Valens felt his chest tighten. Garran’s fingers nearly crushed his shoulder. The pain jolted his mind as he stared at the man. He was still smiling, but it was a bastard of a smile like the time when he smashed a pair of Shriekers against each other.

“Of course I—“

“Hah!” Garran took his hand off and smacked Valens across the back. Nearly sent his liver flying out of his chest as he barked out a laugh. “Got you there!”

“Hıhh…” Valens wheezed, holding a hand over his chest. He reached for Lifesurge as bile piled into his throat.

When he blinked, there was a pair of eyes looking at him an inch from his face.

“Secrets, eh?” Garran said, smiling. “Carry too much of ‘em and they start stinging. Now, let’s get us the first pay of your new job, shall we? Ain’t nothing like the feeling of that thin, quality Caligian notes.”

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