ROTLE- Chapter 171- An Enemy of The Church?

Joleleh woke up with a dry throat. He missed his traits as a tribreed already. Doomed to the life of a [Prisoner], jumping from world to world at the behest of his captors, he was growing tired.

It was a difficult thing always having to start afresh. Most people liked to say that if you had climbed to the top before, then you could do it again. Why? Because you already knew how to do it. What they did not understand was that knowing how to do something tedious did not make it any less tedious. It was akin to creating something very complex and delicate, only for someone to destroy it just before you reached the end.

It was not a science, most things about growing stronger lived in the domain of figuring it out.

If your creation was ruined before you reached the top, it demotivated you, made you want to do something else. It was harder when you were now being forced to do it all over again. It weighed heavily on the mind, often to a breaking point.

But Joleleh was beyond breaking. It would take more than a few reincarnations in the bodies of broken or dead people to break him. Even if they were bodies of bipedals.

How do they clear their throats again? He wondered. His last reincarnation had been in an insectoid race, if he remembered correctly.

Or was it serpentine?

He had reincarnated so many times that he was beginning to lose track of timelines. After a moment, he discarded the thoughts, allowing instincts to play their part.

Slowly, his lungs tried to expand. The air tickled the back of his throat. He coughed a little, almost choking on the little saliva that his tongue produced.

“My Lord,” a voice called out. Only then did Joleleh realize that his eyes were still closed, leaving him in the dark, unaware of what was happening.

Again, he allowed the instincts of the body to guide him. His eye lids fluttered, then opened. He was graced to the sight of a lavish room, furnished as would be befitting a prince. He didn’t see much, though. Mostly, his attention was focused on the inscriptions above. He recognized them if only a little.

Someone went through great lengths to keep this child alive, he thought. A pity.

He could not inhabit a living being, after all.

“Young lord,” a voice called to him.

Joleleh turned his head to look at the owner and found an old man approaching him with quick steps. The man went to his knee at the bedside, checking his neck for either a pulse or his temperature. Joleleh wasn’t sure how this world worked yet.

“Where,” he began, working his way through what memories the body still had, “am I?”

The old man was puzzled for a moment. “The royal infirmary, my lord.”

Royal infirmary. So that bastard wasn’t lying, I am royalty here.

That was a good start. One thing all worlds had in common was that the elite had an easier path to evolution to those beneath them.

“Who,” he tried, hating the strength he was forced to use to talk, “am I?”

He watched the man go pale. Joleleh almost sighed. Everyone panicked whenever he asked the question. Amnesia was a great fear of many. A lot of people did not understand that it could be much worse.

Joleleh tried to force determination into his gaze. It must’ve worked because the man answered immediately.

“Derenet, my lord.”

“Derenet?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Derenet who, you buffoon?

“Derenet…” he let the words trail off suggestively.

Luckily, the man was smart enough to understand the question.

“Derenet Brandis.”

…

The staff was cold to the touch, sucking on his mana very gently. Clerent looked at it. He had expected some level of unhealthy pull. So far, he’d barely lost ten percent of his mana. His more precise interest was in the young lord who was actively pinning down a serpent that was over level two hundred as if it was an everyday thing for him.

Estabel had called out to him once. The young lord’s response had been to throw a piece of wood to them. As confusing as that was, he was more intrigued by the young lord’s abilities. Aiden Lacheart had actually done something interesting to the tree that was now channeling vines of mana to tie down the serpent.

Enchantments, he thought. As an [Enchanter], enchantments always gained his attention. For example, here he was, looking at a young lord who had somehow managed to inscribe a binding enchantment, a linking enchantment that was actually volatile in the hands of people who didn’t fully understand it, and an endurance enchantment.

What was mind blowing about it was that he had engraved them all in the blink of an eye, on a tree, and had made it work.

What did he link the tree to?

Clerent refused to believe that Aiden had linked it to himself. Anyone with half a brain knew that you did not link enchantments to yourself. Maybe it was a piece of his clothing?

What has happening really wasn’t making sense to him.

“LORD LACHEART!” Estabel called out, drawing Aiden’s attention once more. “WE’RE LEAVING!”

Clerent gave her a shocked look. Aiden was far from them, how did she expect him to get away from the serpent and get to them before they teleported. With all the hardwork that he was putting into keeping the snake in place, it was obvious that he was sacrificing himself for their—

Aiden made those strange movements with his hands and vanished, gone completely from sight.

Clerent paused. What the fuck?

In the blink of an eye, Aiden was standing right in front of them. He was squatting with a hand on the ground where the piece of wood he had thrown to them should’ve been. As for the piece of wood, it was nowhere to be seen.

“Go!” Aiden barked immediately.

Estabel obeyed, the snake ripping through growing vines as the tree they came from finally came undone.

The spell was activated.

[You have been Teleported]

Clerent felt the world warp around them. The serpent turned and rushed them.

It bit down, and Clerent took in a calming breath. He wasn’t really a fan of teleportation.

Here we go again.

Then the world around them warped.

Since this was a teleportation spell crafted by a [Mage] to cover short distances, he hoped it would not leave the same effects as the teleportation centers of the church. One of the things that made [Saint]s stand out from other people was the way teleportation affected them.

Clerent had met enough [Saint]s who had confirmed that they kept their lucidity and their existence with every teleportation. A normal person felt disoriented, significantly so. Up became there and there became the square root of five.

For [Saint]s, it worked differently. Unfortunately, Clerent realized that even a [Mage]’s short distance teleportation was not exempt as he appeared standing in a world of darkness.

The sky was a deep chimera of blue and black. By all accounts, nothing should be able to be seen here, but he saw clearly. He always saw clearly. His robe glowed gently here, letting of a subtle mix of gold and white, the color of divinity that his patron god had bestowed upon him when he had been blessed with sainthood.

He kept his hands clasped behind his back and wondered how long he would be here for this teleportation.

Might as well take stock.

Mentally, he reached into his storage space, taking account of how many papers he had left. Unlike most fights he found himself in, he had not gotten the papers he had used back since the Lacheart boy had been so generous to burn them up while he had been undoing the binding.

Slightly more than half, he noted. It was annoying since he would have to slave away at recreating them.

He could easily walk into any church and have the priests or seminarians with the [Enchanter] class simply draw up new ones for him, but Clerent was not one to pass his responsibilities on to others.

With a sigh, he adjusted his robe and sat on the ground. I guess all I can do is wait.

If there was one thing that the [Saint]s were all in agreement of when it came to this space, it was that you did not try to figure out what exactly was going on with the horizon that was currently situated to his left, you also did not speak for fear of drawing the attention of the wardens of this space, and you certainly did not walk around. You stayed in place and waited until the gods either had something to inform you of or you returned to Nastild.

So, legs crossed beneath him, Clerent waited, deciding to ponder on the existence that was Aiden Lacheart.

“Come on, then!” a voice barked somewhere to the side. “Let’s get this over with!”

Clerent stiffened for just a moment. He had never been in this space at the same time with someone else. Never. Neither had any of the [Saint]s he’d ever spoken to.

Who the…

His thoughts trailed off as he realized what was happening. He knew the voice. But it was impossible. The owner had no right to be here.

Aiden Lacheart.

He turned his head in the direction of the voice and found the young lord standing with his hands held up in anticipation of violence. Aiden was to Clerent’s left, where the horizon stood far in the distance.

Shut up, you fool, he wanted to call out.

Talking would do nothing but draw the attention of the guardians. Clerent had seen the guardians twice and knew that meeting them was one of the last things that he wanted to do. In his youth, he’d been arrogant to a certain degree. When they’d come after him, he’d fought. Each touch, whether he touched them or they touched him, had taken a level away from him.

In that single encounter, he had lost ten levels, including one skill—a skill he had never gotten back again. It had been a traumatic experience for him.

“Come on, then!” Aiden barked once more.

Clerent moved to get up. If he was fast enough, perhaps he could silence the young fool before the guardians came and silenced him themselves.

Then he froze.

How is he here?

It was the important question. Aiden Lacheart was an anomaly, undoing binds that he should not be able to do, possessing short distance teleportation, engraving enchantments on trees in the blink of an eye.

Clerent realized he was half way up and shook the questions from his head. He needed to hurry. He could find answers to the questions but not if Aiden Lacheart was dead.

He was only a step in Aiden’s direction when he froze again. The world in front of Aiden cracked in different places, then small dots appeared from those cracks. Then the cracks spread, splitting like tentacles from the dots.

A tingle went up Clerent’s spine. As a [Saint], one chosen by the gods, he hated to admit it, but he was afraid. Terrified. An old injury in his back where his skill had ripped itself out of him tingled so many years ago.

The guardians are here.

It was a sad thing to lose a young lord so quickly. To lose a being summoned to their world to save it from the rising darkness.

If he dies here, then maybe he was never meant to be the [Hero].

Clerent knew how the guardians worked so he inched back slowly. They would appear, then they would attack anything in sight. All he could do now was pray for Aiden Lacheart, but he had no hope. The gods had stopped talking to the [Saint]s for two months and counting now.

The gods had grown silent to everyone’s voices, even that of the Hierophant.

Aiden stood heaving in preparation before a continued growing number of guardians. They continued to appear, five becoming eight, eight becoming twelve. It was sad, but Clerent wrote him off as dead.

When they had become twenty, Clerent considered increasing the distance between him and them. When they became thirty, a new confusion settled on him.

They’re not attacking.

It didn’t make any sense. Even Aiden’s preparatory heaves slowed down, calmed. He had been waiting for them, Clerent realized. He had been waiting for a fight.

He’s been here before.

As for Aiden Lacheart, he now looked confused. Still, he waited. As if unsure of what to do, he took a step towards the creatures and the most confusing thing happened—they took a step back.

Are they… Clerent couldn’t even let the thoughts come as one, but he forced the sentence to completion. Are they scared of him?

Aiden took another step forward. Again, they flinched away from him. He took another, and the guardian closest to him simply turned and fled.

Clerent’s jaw dropped. At the same time, Aiden moved his arm, he raised his red arm and looked at it in confusion.

His lips moved, but Clerent did not hear what he had said.

What he did understand, however, was that the guardians, direct subjects of the gods, were wary of him. It left Clerent with one word, a word he had not heard in a very long time.

Heretic.

He rose to his feet, uncertain but driven. His first step towards Aiden was accompanied by a familiar pull. It tugged on him.

It seemed the teleportation was over. Aiden stiffened when it happened.

He feels it, too, Clerent thought, not that he was surprised. What was surprising, though, was what Aiden did next.

Stiff for only a split second, his head snapped to the side. His eyes fixed on Clerent. They were a deep black, as if someone had taken the empty night sky and poured it like ink into them.

A terrible chill went up Clerent’s spine, then he was ripped from the world.

…

The world returned, reality came. Clerent readjusted quickly. The lights, the air. Everything was different, but he was already fine.

Without a wasted breath, he took quick stock of his surroundings. Even those with the [Mage] class needed at least a fraction of a second to reorient themselves. The [Saint]s suffered no draw back.

In that fraction of a second, Clerent confirmed that they were under no threat. Then he rounded on Aiden, taking the young lord unaware. His hand shot out and he grabbed him by the neck, at least he tried to.

Aiden’s hand shot out at the same time. It slapped Clerent’s wrist, sending his hand askew. But Clerent’s strength was the superior one, so without hesitation, he stepped into Aiden. Hand thrown astray, he bent his arm at the elbow and slammed his forearm into Aiden’s neck. Again, Aiden reacted just before impact. Instead of trying to stop the arm, Aiden leaned back. His foot shot out, as if he was falling, and kicked Clerent in the shin, destabilizing his footing.

By the time Clerent had Aiden pinned to the tree with his forearm against his throat, he was unstable, most of the force of the blow was lost. His hold on Aiden was not as strong as he had wanted it to be. Right now, he was not in a place of power, he just had the boy held up against a tree.

It was often the subtle things that made shocking differences.

Still, he ignored it, hoped that Aiden didn’t realize that his actions had actually been successful.

“What,” he said, biting out the words and leaning into the young lord, “are you?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Estabel asked from beside them.

Clerent kept his frown from his face. The [Mage] had reoriented quite quickly. As for Aiden, he stared back at him as if he had questions of his own, questions far more important than the one he had just asked.

Clerent pressed harder on Aiden’s neck. “Answer me!”

Aiden placed a hand on Clerent’s arm, unbothered. In fact, he looked slightly annoyed, like a man who had lost his patience. It was as if he thought that being here was a waste of his time.

“How were you there?” Clerent asked, his annoyance getting the best of him. “How did you do it?”

Aiden continued to look at him. There was a certain caution in his eyes—a calculative caution. Slowly, he looked at Estabel, took in the measure of her, then returned his attention to Clerent.

When he spoke, it was the last thing Clerent had expected to hear.

“Why?”

Clerent paused, puzzled for a moment. His hold on Aiden slackened, but Aiden did not free himself, he did not try.

“What?” It was all Clerent had to say. There was nothing else. His mind’s shock could not string together a proper sentence.

Aiden leaned his head forward. There was a challenge in his eyes. He was daring Clerent. “Why,” he said slowly, practically bit out the words, “should I answer you?”

Rage ignited within Clerent. He felt it fill him. Aiden Lacheart, the young boy, was looking down on him, defying a [Saint]. The boy he’d met at the Naranoff household had been wary of him—that boy would not have done this.

“Then you will die here.”

“Woah! Whoa! Whoa!” Estabel rushed over to them, placing a hand on his arm. She chuckled nervously. “There’s that saintly rage we all know and pretend to love.” She smiled awkwardly to him, then Aiden, then him again. “So how about we do this?”

“This is not your concern, [Mage].” Clerent’s voice came out harsher than he had intended, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He heard Estabel take in a calming breath, as if she did not know that while her class was stronger, his level was higher, and she was in no position of power here.

“It kind of is, if you really think about it,” she said. “It’s your business, too.”

That was enough to make Clerent take his eyes off Aiden. He settled it on her. “Explain.”

“Unhand him first.”

Orders on orders on orders, he scowled. Why did they think they had the right to order him around. He was not theirs to command. Even the church commanded him very carefully when they did.

How did they not get that he answered to the gods?

“Careful,” Aiden said very slowly. “[Saint]s bleed.”

That’s it!

Clerent took his arm from Aiden’s neck, moving swiftly before Aiden could regain his composure. His first punch cracked the tree, to his surprise, as Aiden had moved just before it got there. Aiden moved to the left. Clerent swung a kick into him, cutting off his retreat on that end.

Rather than follow through, in a display of arrogance, Aiden stepped directly into him. Clerent’s eyes took all of him in, waiting for the attack that would come. If it would be a kick, Aiden would have to aim low. He was in no position to do so since it would sacrifice his stability.

A fist, Clerent decided, remembering how the young lord had fought during his duel in the Naranoff manor.

Pain cracked in Clerent’s jaw before he could see anything. He reeled back, knowing that he had just been headbutted.

Cheap tricks, he thought with a scowl. Rather than move forward, he allowed himself to fall backwards into a backflip. His hands serving as leverage on the ground, his legs kicked out, hoping to inflict damage on Aiden. They met nothing but air.

Clerent could not say that he was surprised, but the fight was over already. Aiden would understand why level differences were important.

Coming up, Clerent reached fort with an open hand and froze.

The cold steel of a blade’s tip settled carefully against his neck.

Aiden looked at him with undiluted hate and anger in his eyes. It was almost as if he had a personal vendetta against him. Clerent’s mind flashed to possible ways out of his current situations. The anger in Aiden’s eyes flashed.

“Give me a reason,” Aiden said, unyielding. “Call my bluff.”

They settled into that moment now, frozen in time. Anything could happen. Clerent had always been taught to measure the weight of a man ever since becoming a [Saint]. He believed he knew how to measure the weight of most men.

The weight of Aiden in this moment said that the young lord was more than ready to have the blood of a [Saint] on his hands.

“You will make an enemy of the church?” he asked him.

Aiden pushed the point of his sword a little deeper, deep enough to prove a point. “The church?” he scoffed. “I will make an enemy of your god, if anyone continues to get in my way.”

“If I may?” Estabel said, approaching them cautiously, trying to draw their attention. “Your arm’s no longer black, Lord Lacheart.”