Chapter 137 - Good Nose, SC

It didn’t take long for Sunday to come close to striking another deal with the Arcanum like the one with the Baron. The Adepts representing the institution didn’t have many concrete wants, but they were interested in being in Sunday’s good graces and profiting from his eventual rise. However, trust seemed to come easier to the vampires than to humans.

“I won’t be signing any contracts, especially ones created by inferni blood,” Sunday rejected for the third time.

“You’re forcing us to trust you without guarantees!” Kloud argued.

Adept Juvinde remained silent having delegated most of the talking to Kloud, while Adept Ironbond kept staring at Sunday. They were sitting in one of the cleaner rooms of the Arcanum. Sunday was certain they had made sure to bring him through the worst areas just as a way to show him how much his presence had cost the institution, and how many lives had been lost.

Blood and remnants of monsters and other intruders littered the silent stone halls, and many doors and passages were outright torn apart and broken seemingly just for the sake of it. Most of the building was made of quasi-spell materials, so it was sturdy and difficult to damage, but that didn’t mean there weren’t ways to ruin it. Whatever the cultists and the laughing horrors had aimed, was unknown.

The vaults were left mostly untouched, and only parts of the library had been affected by the pandemonium. The worst were the casualties. Many of the guards and magi who had been left to protect the Arcanum during the ghoul attacks had lost their lives, and even Zihei had suffered gravely and despite the healing remained shaken and unresponsive.

It pained Sunday that things had come to this, but his undead constitution and strange mindset seemed to take away the sting and the true horror of such events. It was like looking at the world through a foggy glass. Things were happening but they were removed from him.

I’m part of the world now for good though. I shouldn’t forget that.

“As I said before, I don’t need spells, arts, manpower, or whatever else you have. I simply don’t. All you have to do for me is spread the word of my good name. Make people talk. Make them believe.”

“It’s just—”

“And your strange talent will do the rest, won’t it?” Adept Juvinde asked, interrupting Kloud who had just opened his mouth to speak.

“Yes. That’s all.” No use denying anything. What can they do? Suppress word of me? That would be equal to burning all bridges, and I doubt anyone wants that.

“I say we do it,” Adept Ironbond finally spoke. “We have nothing to lose. Spreading rumors is a simple affair and we’ve done plenty of it before.”

“With respect, honorable Adept, we need guarantees!” Kloud argued.

“Oh, stop it. He’s not asking for much, and if he’s half the person he claims to be then something good might come out of it for us one day,” Adept Juvinde said and clapped her hands on the table with annoyance. “We live long. Magi and undead both. We’ll most likely witness your rise or fall… or perhaps both, if we don’t die due to our connection with you before that. Just make sure to honor your word, and aid us if we need it and we will speak of you, of your healing and your physical prowes.”

Finally.

“Add in how smart I am and how easily I learn to use spells and arts,” Sunday smiled. “It doesn’t hurt to test the limits of this thing I have.”

“It's crazy if you become stronger only because of this,” Kloud sighed. “Very well, I shall stop arguing.”

“I’ll make you leave doubt behind. I hate to leave depts unrepaid, and if I don’t die and manage to turn into what you all think I can be, you won’t regret your choice.”

After some further pleasantries, Sunday and Vesper left the Arcanum without much fanfare. He had hoped to see Zihei, but the mage was recuperating from his injuries. Magical healing could do wonders, but some things still required time.

“This was boring and tiring. I don’t know why you need those guys. Just pay some beggars off and you’ll have your name spread to the moon and back,” the vampire said while stretching.

“You know, from the few vampires I know, you’re the most human. Why’s that?” Sunday suddenly asked.

“Thanks! I’ve been trying really hard to be more human. You see, eons of living eventually rub off on a guy. Books become the same, blood blends into one indistinct flavor—with few exceptions of course—and sex—”

The vampire stopped in the middle of the street with a grin. Sunday found him staring at an undead woman showing a bit too much skin and leaning on a corner. She had almost no wounds or marks of time, and her face seemed to contain a strange charm reminiscent of Riya’s. That stopped Sunday in his track and his mood instantly soured.

Come to think of it, I haven’t paid much attention to the nightlife apart from all the scheming and bullshit… huh.

“Well, sex remains great! Essence has a way of being a novelty, always, but booze has never sat good with me. Other undead seem to appreciate it more, while we vampires partake only as a source of essence.”

“Does it do anything for you? Essence.”

Their gazes tore away from the woman and the two continued slowly down the street. Sunday was tempted to use Chaotic Step, but the talent was becoming more terrifying. He distinctly remembered the feeling of not being in control in his bones, and that grainy world where everything fell apart into the fundamental parts, was also quite daunting. There were secrets there and power to be taken.

In time I’ll be able to traverse the world in the blink of an eye. Just fold it like a napkin.

“Essence helps us regenerate sometimes, but blood is still better. Blood essence, however, is another thing. It's what makes us tick and consuming lots of blood through the years reinforces and expands our capability to use it.”

“So as long as you live long enough and have enough essence… you will always grow stronger?”

Vesper grinned. “In theory. The Corpse Kings don’t like individuals or vampire clans to grow too strong, but they are not all-seeing and all-knowing despite what some may think.”

Sunday swallowed the budding questions, as this seemed like the territory of secrets, and he had just met Vesper. Trust was not something he had earned, and demanding it was foolish. These were allies unlike any of those he had met yet. They were here specifically for him, and to propel him forward. Such a relationship wouldn’t be a simple thing affair.

“What exactly are the Corpse Kings? I keep hearing their name being mentioned. Nysandra did too, but… she’s not fond of them.”

“Yeah, she’s scary when she’s annoyed. Don’t let her know I told you this, but one of her strange abilities is that she can make anyone feel pain. Anyone. It’s fucking terrifying, and many of the old undying bastards are afraid of her. Do you know how fragile a thousand-year-old mind becomes when surrounded only by splendor and luxury? Existence is a weight after a time. In a way humans are blessed to flicker out and die in their simple lives,” the vampire lamented. “Not that I’m complaining. Anyway, to answer your question, the Corpse Kings are the self-pronounced rulers of the dead. They are a bunch of ancient magi who had seen a lot more than Nysandra or me and who hold quite the repository of spells.”

“So… are they from the burial grounds?”

Vesper eyed him as they took a corner. A bunch of hooligans seemed to take notice of them and then shuddered as one and scurried off. The vampire grinned.

“Yes. Most, I think. I try to stay away from politics. It’s bad for the skin.”

Ha.

“The Corpse Kings are something of a mystery, to be honest. We know they exist and their servants are everywhere throughout the continent, as evident from your encounter with that weirdo… what did he call himself? Trust?” the vampire grabbed Sunday’s shoulder and pulled him in a different direction without explanation. “Those ‘servants’ of theirs meddle in the affairs of all other major powers, but mostly the independents, like the Arcanum. Their relationship with the Human Emperor is quite tense too, however, he has quite a few talented individuals on his side, and messing with him is difficult.”

“Human Emperor? Like of all humanity?”

They were quickly walking away from their initial destination. The light in the vampire’s eyes worried Sunday a bit.

“Kind of. Technically Blumwin is part of his domain, but no one cares about this region. The council is running the city as an independent settlement while paying parts of the profits to the Empire.”

“Ugh, this will take me a while,” Sunday groaned. He was sure there was more nuance to things, but the vampire's simple explanation at least gave him a general idea of the situation. “Where are we going?”

“I smelled something nasty,” Vesper gave a toothy smile and

They rounded a few corners, now on the other side of the Wayward Rat, and soon found themselves in one of the less thread-upon alleyways. Shadows covered most of it, and it was filled with abandoned broken crates and rubbish. The few windows were boarded up. Vesper moved some of the broken wood and garbage with a flick of his hand, then took out a handerchief, carefully wiped his fingers, and threw it on the ground.

Sunday heard him mutter something, but apart from the word ‘dirty’ he couldn’t catch anything else. That was not what held his attention though.

In the middle of all that, was a person. A sorry excuse of a person. Even ignoring the ragged clothes and the pool of blood, the man was little more than a walking wound. His skin was cracked like one would crack marble, and bits of flesh protruded from the wounds. Mutated tumorous growths like budding flowers.

Sunday narrowed his eyes as the sensation of disgust washed over him. And with it, something else…

A believer? Is it happening again?!

Soon his worries were thwarted. Vesper stared down at the man but the wounded person showed no reaction at all. As if he was not even seeing the vampire. Sunday felt some of the predatory aura spread around the street, possibly to keep others away. It made most people, even the powerful magi uncomfortable, but to Sunday and apparently the one before them it was as if nothing had changed.

“He’s out of it. The loss of the divine touch sometimes messes with the minds of people. Want to try helping? Figured you’d know what to do now.”

Sunday didn’t reply. He didn’t care about Vespers strange attitude nor how he had sniffed out this person. He walked forward, passing the vampire and squatting down.

The person’s cracked lips were whispering something, but Sunday didn’t understand him. He didn’t need to though. As if controlled by a primal instinct he reached out and his hand touched the man’s cheek. It was not a slap, but a palm of warmth.

Then he felt it. His newfound ability. It was like the world was there for the taking, and all Sunday had to do was close his fingers around it and pull.

And he did just that.

Outwardly nothing much changed. Sunday pulled his hand away, closing it in the process, and just like he had done with Adept Juvinde, took something away. This was no mere essence though. IT was something sick and twisted and utterly despicable. Something that made him want to scream.

The man gasped and calmed down, but Sunday paid him no attention. He would heal him in a moment but first—

There it was. The tree in his soul space breathed in and what he had taken, that corrupted spark, flowed into its body to be purified.

Another moment later Sunday felt his little pool of divine essence grow.