Chapter 27: Blade of Revelation

Chapter 27: Blade of Revelation

Lyman asked, puzzled, "If you encounter a lock that won't open, why not just hack it apart? Can't the Blade of Revelation become extremely sharp?"

"Well, some locks, once destroyed, will destroy whatever is inside. Some locks need to be opened quietly, without drawing attention. And some locks are invisible—like seals, barriers, curses."

"Sounds like some kinda thief trick," Lyman mocked.

"You're in prison, and you still look down on thieves?"

"I keep telling you, I'm innocent!" Lyman said seriously. "Enough chit-chat, so how do I actually open the lock?"

"Unlocking with the Blade of Revelation is basically a Sorcery ritual. First off, how much do you know about sorcery?"

Lyman thought for a moment, "Expelliarmus?"

"...Looks like you know nothing at all," Lunast said, completely dumbfounded.

He explained, "Basically, sorcery has two big principles: the 'Law of Similarity' and the 'Law of Contact.' All sorcery rituals derive from these two principles.

"'The Law of Similarity' means that, in sorcery, similar things are the same thing. For example, sticking needles into a portrait of your enemy makes the enemy feel pain. Smearing honey on a newborn's lips ensures they'll speak sweetly when they grow up. Likewise, if you want to 'open' something, you just 'open' something else first.

"Take your cell door lock, for instance. To open it, you need an 'officiant,' a 'ritual implement,' and a 'sacrifice.' The officiant is you, of course; the ritual implement is the Blade of Revelation; and the sacrifice can be any living thing. You grip the Blade of Revelation, link the sacrifice and the lock in your mind, and use the blade to 'open' a cut on the sacrifice. Then you slash at the lock. If it works, the lock will 'open' right away."

Lyman was incredulous: "That's it?"

"How complicated did you think it'd be?"

"Drawing a huge magic circle, chanting spells for minutes on end, offering up eight or ten sacrifices..."

Lunast burst out laughing, thunderously. His laughter was so loud the very stones shook. Lyman had no clue what was so funny.

He laughed for a solid two minutes before stopping, gasping, "Oh, you're right, normal sorcery rituals are like that. But the better the ritual implement, the simpler the ritual becomes. The Blade of Revelation is obviously top-tier, which is why I said using it just as a weapon is a waste."

"Okay... but where am I supposed to find a sacrifice?"

"The more complicated the lock, the better the sacrifice you need. That crappy lock on your cell? Just grab a little mouse or rabbit and gut it. If it's a bank vault, you'd need something bigger, like a cow or a sheep. If you can't find an animal, you can use yourself. After all, humans are a high-grade sacrifice."

Lyman's eyes went wide: "Wouldn't I drop dead before the ritual even finishes?!"

"Using a high-grade sacrifice on a low-grade lock doesn't mean gutting yourself—just a little cut on your finger works. If the door's too big, or the sacrifice is far away, you can get an Assistant to do the 'sacrificing' while you stand at the door and 'unlock' it with the Blade of Revelation. As long as you draw a big enough magic circle around both of you, it works."

I don't even have a sacrifice, let alone an assistant, Lyman thought glumly. Am I gonna have to use myself?

He looked down at the dandelion by his feet.

The little mouse was terrified: "L-Lyman, Mr. Lehman, you're not gonna use me as a sacrifice, are you?!"

"Of course not! I'm not that insane!" Lyman quickly reassured him.

The dandelion's tiny eyes rolled mischievously: "I just thought of the perfect sacrifice! Wait here!"

With that, the little silver-gray figure zipped into a crack in the wall and disappeared.

A few minutes later, squeaking erupted as the dandelion shot out like a silver-gray tornado, chased by a huge, fat gray rat.

"Mr. Lehman, help!" the dandelion squealed.

The fat rat chased the dandelion around everywhere. But no matter how big it was, it was no match for a terrifying upright ape. Lyman moved like lightning, stomping on the fat rat's tail. The rat shrieked and, before it could react, was spinning through the air as Lyman hoisted it up.

"Squeak! Mr. Lehman, that's the one!" the dandelion pointed at the fat rat, like a kid tattling to a teacher, "It's always picking on me, and it even bit off one of my friend's ears!"

The fat rat was stunned: "You sneaky little runt, you actually brought a two-legged beast to back you up!"

Lyman got it—the dandelion wanted him to stick up for him. When he'd agreed to work with the dandelion, his condition was protecting the little mouse, and now it was his turn to deliver.

Ignoring the fat rat's shrieks and curses, he walked to the door, listened for any sound outside, and made sure no one was around. Holding the Blade of Revelation in his right hand, he silently thought, "This rat is this door," then used the sharpest part of the blade to make a small cut on the rat's belly.

The fat rat let out a piercing shriek, its limbs twitching, then went still. The Blade of Revelation soaked up the blood and glowed crimson.

Lyman turned the blade to the cell door and slashed the air.

Click.

The lock clicked open.

"It actually worked?!"

Lyman set down the fat rat's corpse in disbelief, pushed the door open, and carefully stepped out.

He was... free?

It had been so easy that he wondered if this was a hallucination from his dying moments.

Beyond the door was a low, narrow corridor with damp floors, some spots still leaking water. Torches were mounted on the walls at intervals—the only light in the black prison.

Iron doors lined both sides of the hallway. Lyman figured most cells were empty, since besides him and Lunast, he'd never seen any other neighbors.

Lyman grabbed a torch and headed for the exit. If he could open any lock in the world, could he just walk out of prison?

He stopped and listened carefully. Faint voices came from the end of the corridor.

"Damn, lost again! You cheating?"

"Heh heh, don't be such a sore loser!"

There were always guards at the end of the corridor, passing the time with dice when they were bored. But even if they slacked off, they weren't blind—no way they'd miss a living person strolling right past them!

So walking straight out wouldn't be that easy. Even if he took out the guards on duty, there was still a warden and two Inquisitors waiting. Fighting his way through the whole prison alone was a long shot, to say the least. And then there was the ultimate problem—how to cross the sea?

If only there was a way to hide himself and come and go freely. He'd have to wait until he finished the next task from the Book of the Evil God and try to draw a new Supernatural Ability.

Lyman reluctantly retreated deeper into the corridor. Just as he was about to head back to his cell, his eyes landed on the iron door next to his.

If he could open his own cell door, couldn't he open Lunast's as well? He'd been curious about his neighbor's true form for a while—might as well pay a visit.

He walked to the door and was about to use the Blade of Revelation to open it when the iron door suddenly went "thud."

Lyman lowered the blade and put his ear to the iron door. "Lunast?"

"Don't open it."

Through the steel, Lunast's voice came out cold and serious.

"Why not? Can't I see you?" Lyman asked.

A faint sigh came through, like night wind.

"You can't open this door right now," Lunast said. "My cell is special—it's sealed. To open it, you'd need a sacrifice as big as a mountain."

They're both prisoners in the same black prison, so why such different treatment? Lyman's cell door opens with a rat as a sacrifice, but Luna's needs an elephant?

Lyman pressed, "But if I can't open this door, how am I supposed to take you with me when I escape?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"The guards must have a way to open it, right? Otherwise, how do they bring you your meals every day?"

"Have you ever heard the guards bring me meals?"

He hadn't, actually. Lyman had been puzzled about this for a long time; he'd always figured the guards brought meals to the next cell while he was asleep, but even then, he should've heard something.

"People under the seal don't need to eat," Luna said. "Inside the seal, nothing changes; time doesn't mean anything. I don't even feel hungry."

"That sounds great? I mean, that's terrible," Lyman said. "What horrible thing did you do? Someone like me running a cult just gets thrown in the black prison like anybody else."

"I had a little run-in with the head of the Dawn Church," Luna said flatly.

"What? You pissed off the Pope? What's the head of the Dawn Church called? His Holiness? The Patriarch? The Caliph?"

"The Holy See," Luna said.

"Did you talk smack about him?"

"A bit worse than that."

Getting sealed away was totally deserved. Some prisoners got life sentences just for throwing hands with a priest. Pissing off a religious leader and not getting an instant death sentence was already the Dawn Church being generous.

Lyman sighed, went back to his cell, and shut the door behind him like he was coming home.

The fat rat's body was still lying on its back on the floor. To Lyman's surprise, a bunch of rats had gathered around it, like they were holding a funeral.

Dandelion stood on the highest spot, looking smugly at the other rats.

"This is what happens when you mess with me, you saw that, right?!" it squeaked. "Any rat that dares disrespect me again, I'll sacrifice every last one of you!"

The rats stared at it in awe, totally intimidated. The fat rat had been the toughest and meanest of them all, and even it died that easily...

Lyman's perfectly timed arrival added some drama to the serious scene. Seeing the red-glowing, still-dripping Blade of Revelation in his hand, the rats shook with fear, instinctively knowing it was deadly. Had Dandelion gotten so powerful with the help of that scary upright ape?

"Squeak! We'll all do what you say from now on, Lord Dandelion!" a brown rat said respectfully. "No, King Dandelion!"

"King Dandelion!" The rats bowed their heads in surrender.

"Dandelion, get rid of its body," Lyman said, pointing at the dead fat rat. "Don't dirty up my cell."

Even though there wasn't a clean spot in this godforsaken place, Lyman still didn't want to share his cell with a dead rat.

The silver-gray mouse barked orders: "You all heard that! Mr. Lehman's soft-hearted and can't stand dead bodies, so hurry up and drag this one out!"

The rats didn't dare hesitate; they immediately picked up the fat rat and disappeared into the cracks in the wall.

Dandelion hopped around Lyman's feet happily: "Thanks so much, Mr. Lehman! No rat will ever push me around again!"

Lyman gave a wry smile. It wasn't just that no rat would bully him. Before long, the prison island would probably turn into a rat kingdom. The founding king would, of course, be King Dandelion, ruling by divine right. What a perfect little mirror of human society.

He sat down cross-legged and called up the Book of the Evil God. Dandelion hopped onto his knee and curled up into a little ball.

"Mr. Lehman, why'd you come back? Didn't you get out?"

"Ugh, there are guards outside, so I still can't leave. I can only roam around the black prison," Lyman sighed. "Hey, Dandelion, can you get to the next cell?"

He jerked his chin toward Lunast's side.

Dandelion suddenly shuddered, fur all puffed up, turning into a chestnut-sized ball of fluff.

"You wanna go over there? Don't, please!" it chattered. "There's a scary vibe over there!"

"Scary? You mean the cell is scary, or the person inside?"

"I-I don't know!" The little mouse grabbed its head with its paws. "I just know no rat can go in there! Don't go, Mr. Lehman, you'll die!"

Lyman didn't feel any scary aura, maybe because humans and rats have different senses.

"Okay, okay, I definitely won't go." He rubbed the little mouse's head with his finger.

He opened the Book of the Evil God, moved "The Masque of the Actor Emperor" back into Sylen's Apostle Card, then shifted into Xiaoqi's form and appeared before Sylen again.

The merman youth, seeing Xiaoqi come back, felt a little uneasy.

"Did something happen, Xiaoqi?" he asked nervously.

"I'm here to tell you: the Master is really happy with your devotion. He's given 'The Masque of the Actor Emperor' back to you, hoping you'll use it well and keep helping with His big plan."

Sylen pulled out his Apostle Card, and sure enough, the mask was back in his Divine Casket.

He'd thought that once he gave up the mask, he'd have to hide and run to avoid being chased, never imagining it would come back to him one day.

The youth knelt down piously and bowed his head.

"Thank the Lord of the Abyss for His generosity! I won't let Him down!"

Xiaoqi nodded: "Good, then I'm off. ...This grilled fish?"

"They're all, all for you, I mean, all for the great Master."

Sylen tossed the grilled fish into the Divine Casket one by one, watching them vanish, knowing Xiaoqi had taken them. For some reason, he found feeding the little critter oddly fun. He was good at catching fish anyway; tomorrow he could catch some more. When he got to the next town, he'd buy some goodies. He'd grabbed plenty of gold coins and jewels from Old Gulehan, more than enough to cover it.

Back in the prison, Lyman pulled the grilled fish out of the book and took a bite, holding back tears.

Even though it had nothing but salt on it, it was more than enough. The smoky smell hit his nose, and the perfectly cooked tender meat melted on his tongue, making Lyman want to suck every last bit off the bones.

But his behavior felt weirdly familiar, like a eunuch using the excuse of reading a decree to line his own pockets...

"Well, it's gotta be my imagination!" Lyman muttered to himself.

***

Late at night. The Inquisitor's temporary office.

Aether Orolan leaned over his desk, writing long entries in a case file by candlelight and the fire.

Next to him sat a bottle of deep red wine and a plate of fresh-baked biscuits from the guards, untouched.

Today, Acting Captain Eton had personally led a search for the Blade of Revelation, but came up empty. Searching for a small dagger in a forest as vast as a sea of trees was like looking for a needle in a haystack, not to mention the fact that their target was in the sky—the ravens in the forest seemed to hate humans with a passion, attacking the search party relentlessly and ending their day's expedition in a miserable, shit-covered state.

The only good news was that they'd found Captain Prew's lost horse and hounds in the woods. At least the stable hand was happy.

"Aether, can I come in?" Nashel's voice came from outside the door.

"No." Aether said flatly.

Nashel, as usual, let his words go in one ear and out the other, pushed open the door, and bounced into the room cheerfully.

"I just spoke with the Chief Inquisitor using the Farsight Mirror."

Aether straightened up: "What did the Chief say?"

"He was furious and ordered us to find the Blade of Revelation no matter what. He was also pretty gleeful, since the one who lost the relic is the Preacher General's nephew, and it happened in a prison under his jurisdiction. The Preacher General's in for it now."

Aether sneered: "Serves him right. Who told him to hand over the relic to a relative like it was his personal property? He should be counting his blessings the Holy See didn't punish him."

He wrote the last line and stuck the quill back in the ink bottle.

"Oh, and the Chief Inquisitor told me something else." Nashel got a serious look on his face.

That kind of look rarely showed up on the Red-Haired Inquisitor's face, and when it did, it meant something really serious was going down.

So Aether straightened his back and tensed up too. "Go on."

"The Research Department just officially announced that a new 'Stellar Conjunction' has started."

Aether was stunned, and his hair suddenly stood on end. "How long is this one gonna last?"

"Not sure. This is a once-in-a-millennium conjunction, so anywhere from a few months to a few years is totally normal."

"...Years?!" Aether was stunned.

Nashel rarely dropped his goofy attitude, and his green eyes turned cold and serious, like a frozen flag in a blizzard.

"In the coming days, the Tribunal's gonna have its hands full. Who knows how many freaks and monsters from other worlds are gonna show up in ours. The heretics are starting to get restless too; that cult that tried to summon a god from another world might be one of them..."

Aether looked up: "You mean the one with Layman Vichard?"

Nashel nodded: "Their summoning ritual happened right when this Stellar Conjunction started. You know, these heretics have their tricks; sometimes their astronomy is more accurate than the Research Department's."

"But the summoning must've failed, or the Knights would've been wiped out by now."

Nashel mused, "What if this cult's smarter than we think?"

Aether gave him a confused look.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Inquisitor, the prisoner you asked for is here."

"Come in!" Nashel shouted.

A tall, skinny prisoner with glasses was shoved in. He had a stiff smile on his face, like a seminary student called to the principal's office, his hands twisting together nervously, like he didn't know what to do with them.

Aether blinked: "Who are you?"

The prisoner with glasses looked just as confused: "Didn't you call for me?"

Aether was confused: "Me?"

"I'm the one who called for him." Nashel plopped down on the desk, pointed at the prisoner, and winked at Aether.

Aether knew that hint; it meant "you do the questioning."

The blond inquisitor sighed and folded his hands under his chin. This was his go-to interrogation pose.

"I've got some questions for you. What's your name?"

The prisoner with glasses started rubbing his hands together like a fly. "Nikola Millen. Folks call me 'the Scholar.' I'll tell you everything, noble Inquisitor."

"Good, I like prisoners who cooperate." Aether pointed to the Lion Statue on the desk, signaling for the Scholar to stick his hand in its mouth.

Unlike other prisoners who shook at the sight of the statue, the Scholar was curious, even poking it with his other hand to check what it was made of.

Aether looked at Nashel; he still had no idea what to ask about. At this point, he might be even more lost than the prisoner.

Nashel fiddled with the quill: "I heard you were pretty tight with that prisoner, Layman Vichard?"

The Scholar answered: "We were put in the same work crew. Uh, does this statue detect lies?"

Aether realized this was about digging into Lyman's business.

"It's our turn to ask questions, not yours!" he barked.

The Scholar flinched.

This was when Nashel, playing the good cop, stepped in. He said amiably: "Aether, you're scaring the poor man! Dear Nikola, don't mind this brute. I've invited you here just to ask a few things. Have you had any conversations with Layman Vichard recently?"

The Scholar was puzzled: "What kind of conversations do you mean?"

"Like, exchanging ideas and insights?"

The Scholar gasped: "How do you know about that?"

Aether was surprised. He had thought Lyman was an upstanding citizen; could he really have been spreading heretical ideas to his fellow inmates?

"You'd better confess honestly." Aether's gaze darkened.

"I'll talk!" the Scholar said excitedly.

Huh? Why was this guy so eager? Something seemed off...

"I was planning to explain my important theory about celestial bodies to Lyman. In this prison, he's the first person willing to listen to my theories! Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to elaborate; all sorts of things keep getting in the way..."

The Scholar shook his head regretfully, then a look of ecstasy appeared in his eyes.

"Are you two inquisitors asking about this because you're interested in my theories? Are you also seeking the truth? Ah, you truly are a breath of fresh air in the Church! You'll surely dispel falsehoods and bring true light to the world!"

Nashel was stunned. He had summoned this prisoner because he saw him being close with Layman Vichard, thinking they might have discussed topics about the cult or heretical ideas. But what was this nonsense?

He strode to the bookshelf and pulled out a thick record book.

"I knew the name Nikola sounded familiar." He quickly flipped through the pages and soon found Nikola's prison record. "Nikola Millen, charged with 'spreading heretical doctrines.' In his work 'On the Motion of Celestial Bodies and the Center of the Universe,' he claims that the Church's teachings on the relationship between the sun and the earth are utterly erroneous, and proposes that the center of the universe is..."

Nashel handed the record book to Aether.

Aether read it, his face turning ashen.

"You heretic!" He slammed the desk, making the Lion Statue jump. "If you dare utter another word of your heresy, I'll tear out your tongue and feed it to the fish on the spot!"

The Scholar was deeply aggrieved. "But you asked first!"

"We didn't ask about that!"

Nashel asked: "We're asking whether Layman Vichard has spread any ideas to you or invited you to join any organization."

The scholar furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. "I don't think so... We haven't known each other long..."

"Has he shown any signs of being off?" Nashel asked again. "I mean, anything different from an ordinary prisoner."

"I haven't noticed... Does being better-looking than most prisoners count?"

Nashel walked around behind the scholar and put his arm around his shoulders. "Nikola, are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

The scholar was puzzled by the sudden change of subject. He watched Nashel pick up a plate of biscuits from the table. "Have some!"

The scholar was taken aback. "Really, can I?"

"Of course! You've given us important information!" Nashel said with enthusiasm. "You and Lyman seem to be getting along pretty well. If you keep feeding us info on the regular, you can enjoy these every time."

The scholar understood his meaning. "You want me to be a spy, to keep an eye on Lyman for you?"

"Exactly," Nashel said. "I'll use copying files as an excuse to get you in here every evening. Literate prisoners are rare in Cape Prison, and you're one of them—no one will suspect anything. You don't actually have to copy; once you've reported, you can leave."

The scholar stared at them, all righteous and indignant. "Lyman's my soulmate; I can't betray him!"

Nashel scratched the back of his head. Had he messed up? Was this prisoner so loyal?

Then he heard the scholar say, "You'll need to add more!"