Deus Necros

The cleric sighed. He had the air of someone who had seen too much politicking to speak with innocence anymore.

Ludwig noticed, “You don’t sound too happy with me meeting one of your church’s big figures…”

“Well. Not that, but it’s been a while since we saw her either… Lady Titania is still stuck in the west, with all the fighting going on with the Kingdom of the Sands and all…”

Ludwig’s explanation was practical. The name conjured campaigns and divided focuses. If high players were busy elsewhere, their influence here would thin and leave openings. The map of power was porous.

“Yeah, I suppose, but why is the holy church intervening in a fight between the countries? Shouldn’t the Imperial Army be handling that sort of thing?”

Sigurd’s question struck an obvious point. In theory, wars belonged to armies and kings, not to clerical hierarchies. But the world was never tidy.

“That would have been the case if not for the sorceries and magic the Kingdom of the Sand people are using,” Gehrman said. “They’re leaning far too much on dark curses and magic. Unlike here in the Empire of Lufondal, they don’t have any monitoring about their dabbling in dark Magic.”

Gehrman’s words held the weary consonance of a man used to maps and borders and the ways people avoid them. The corruption of power by dark arts made intervention inevitable. For Joana, the point confirmed that this was not a petty scuffle but a wider rot.

“I see,” Ludwig nodded.

He allowed the nod to be small and meaning-bearing. The path ahead led south, toward Elvira and the Sacrosanctum, and each step could bring them into the web of several authorities.

The group continued walking south toward the nearest city, the heart of the Holy Order, the holy city Elvira. The road sloped through scrub and wind-bent trees. Travelers crossed paths with silence and with questions, but the road’s end would bring answers of a different shape.

Kassandra intervened, speaking before the valley swallowed the sound. “Ludwig, how’s your magic progress?”

Her question was direct, practical. She asked not from intrigue but from measurement. Magic, in their world, was as much a tool as a warning; progress or lack of it had consequences.

“Ah,” Ludwig clenched his hand briefly. The gesture went unnoticed by some and said plenty to those who knew him. “Not that great to be honest. Haven’t had the chance to learn any new magic. I really need a break… to be honest there was just so much fighting that I couldn’t use magic much. I’ve been forced to fight in melee due to my lack of understanding of magic and its application. Fighting the Wrathful Death with tier four magic at best was just a waste of mana, as he shrugged everything off…”

He admitted fatigue and a gap in training. The confession was modest but edged with the truth of someone forced by circumstance to adapt on the fly. That a creature shrugged off rank-four spells told of scale beyond ordinary reckoning.

“You’d probably be the only one complaining about only being able to use Rank Four magic at your age. People could spend decades learning and won’t go beyond third, while you spent like what? A year learning…”

Kassandra’s tone mixed skepticism and a careful admiration. The idea that Ludwig’s rise had been so quick made the rest of them glance at him anew. The notion of a single year to that level of learning read like rumor and fact braided together.

“A year?” the rest of the party said together, the sound a chorus edged with disbelief.

“Yeah, when we were students, Ludwig’s first day at the academy was basically his first interaction with magic. He looked like some fallen noble with a steep background but no magical history… though now you do look the part, the noble part,” Kassandra said as she gave him a once-over that was part appraisal, part teasing.

Her appraisal had humor in it, but also the recognition of the transformation. Clothes, bearing, and manner can be borrowed; talent could not. The comment landed lightly but meant more.

Ludwig smiled. “These aren’t mine,” he said, tightening the regalia around him, “but they sure as hell are comfy. I have to thank Celine for these. Speaking of which…”

The name moved the conversation. Celine’s presence, even in absence, tugged at threads that could pull them toward old trouble.

“She and Van Dijk are back at tower, and they’ve been nothing but trouble, to the point that the Dean himself had to intervene at points…”

Joana’s words were clipped. The Dean’s involvement suggested abuse of power and mismanagement, or at least the kind of bureaucratic hand that leaves reputations scorched.

“Wait, that stuck-up asshole?”

Ludwig’s irritation returned in a flash. His shorthand assessments landed like small stones aimed at a window.

“OI! Don’t call him that!” Kassandra said.

The rebuke came with a sharpness that made the group look around. Joana could not help herself: a snort of restrained laughter escaped her. The moment was human, an odd punctuation in the long list of heavier topics.

“Why not? That guy didn’t even lift a hand to help me, left both me and Van Dijk for the wolves. Didn’t even act when the Holy Order came knocking at his door…”

Ludwig’s voice carried the old ache of being young and unsupported. The memory stuck like burr to fabric. He had learned hard lessons in the shape of neglect, and his bitterness now flavored his words.

“You can’t fault him for that, there were circumstances…”

Joana’s reply was measured; there were always contingencies that explained absences, and sometimes politics demanded choices that looked cruel from one angle and prudent from another.

“Hah! What would you have thought if you were in my place? Hunted by the fucking order,” Ludwig said, turning to the cleric. “No offense… Well I sorta mean offense…”

He softened the edge with a clumsy half-apology. The group understood; being pursued makes enemies of institutions that should have protected you.

“Don’t worry, we get that a lot.”

The cleric answered with a rueful acceptance. He had been around enough combatants and exiles to know how stories wind into reputations.

“Anyway where was I, yeah, a young dumb kid, stuck in god knows where, unable to even reveal myself to the world, with no one to help or assist. Yeah, I was a student at his academy but got nothing in terms of assistance or support, framed and discarded without a second thought. Yeah, I can call him asshole and stuck up and even if he was here, I’ll say it to his face.”

Ludwig’s speech grew looser, the list of grievances a way of reinforcing his claim to the world. His words were blunt and raw; each one bound a memory to the present. The others listened, partly sympathetic, partly wary of the storms that follow such claims.

“Damn…” Kassandra said. “Well, I guess that’s euh… well, this is awkward…”

Her discomfort was honest. She had not meant to catalyze such an eruption of old feeling and now shuffled toward repair. Social friction in small groups can chill faster than mountain air. Latest content published on NoveIＦire.net

“What is it?” Ludwig asked, sensing the shift.

“Well, when we met you, I contacted Celine and Master Van Dijk, and they apparently overheard the conversation from the crystal, along with the Dean…”

The revelation landed like a pebble in a pond and sent ripples outward. The crystal’s reach made their private conversation less private. The power of such devices could complicate matters in remarkable ways.

“Oh… well, that crystal is functional?”

Ludwig’s question was practical, asking if the orb was still relaying information in real time.

“Yes.”

“Audio and picture?”

They spoke tersely now, clarifying the limits of surveillance in a world that prized both discretion and information.

“Yes.”

“They can see us and hear us?”

“Yes.”

For a beat, Ludwig’s expression went flat and then mischievous. He lifted a hand and, in a small, childish flourish, raised his middle finger. “Sup stuck-up asshole,” he said, his insult aimed at the absent Dean and the bigger systems behind him. The gesture was childish, but effective.

Joana couldn’t help but snort a laugh despite herself. It cut the moment with a little human sharpness.

From the other side of the conversation came an embarrassed, awkward cough. The sound was unmistakable. They all turned toward it, and for a second the world narrowed to the Dean’s muffled embarrassment transmitted across crystal and distance.