Demonic City Builder [LitRPG, Kingdom Building]

Capital of Solari Territory, Aurelion — The Spire

The door to the study flung open, William striding briskly inside.

High Bishop Demetri looked up, setting down the parchment piece. From the doorway he could see Commander Ashlan still in the waiting lounge, wearing simple, gray garbs. The man had his head in his hands, hair in balled fists.

Before he even had a chance to fully assess him, the study door thudded shut.

Demetri cocked an eyebrow. “William, is everything quite alright?”

“That blasted man! By The Five, I know we’re taught that all deserve mercy. But at what point does mercy become foolishness?!” spat William. The young priest had his hands clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. He started pacing back and forth in front of the great oak desk in the high bishop’s study.

Demetri knew the answer. But he had to ask. “And what, pray tell, has my favorite priest so out of sorts?”

William paused, wheeling. “Oh! You know! Oren! He’s been out there all morning. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen.”

“I have.”

“Have you, father? Have you?” pressed William. “The man’s telling the entire city the demons you spoke of at the conclave couldn’t possibly be real. That the witness statements you shared were fabricated. He’s all but called you out of your mind! Oren’s using the cleansing in the writ—when demons were all but extinguished during the third coming—as grounds for his nonsense! Between that and the other foolishness his lackeys have added, the city’s eating it up! Yet, not a single, holy loving one of them has stopped to question if maybe, just maybe, darkness might have found a crack in The Five’s will. Nooo. That would be just heretical to even mention!” By the end, the priest was nearly shouting. His cheeks had gone red and breath was coming in gasps.

Sitting back in his chair, Demetri studied his de-facto apprentice. When he was sure nothing more was coming, he reached to the decanter by his side. With a deliberate calm, he poured two glasses of cherry wine. He slid one across to the priest, before taking the other and rising.

“Drink, my son.”

William didn’t look like he wanted to, but when a high bishop told you to drink, you drank. So he did, bitterly sipping at the glass, glaring into it as if the amber liquid would part, answering his unsaid questions.

Demetri walked to the large glass windows of the study, overlooking the city. As a ranking bishop, he was allotted a generous parlor, study, and chambers in the upper mid levels of The Spire. High enough that the bustling noise of the golden city below was lost to the wind, but not so high that he couldn’t make out faces.

Gazing down, he spotted what had William so worked up. Oren was on top of a pulpit, set in the center of Aurelion’s main market square. Golden fountains sprayed water in lazy arches, with well kept flowerbeds outlining the stalls and shops. Residents and priests intermingled, baskets of baked goods and necessities in their grip. Business and trade of such items was always taking place in the square.

Today, however, it was interrupted. Oren had a gathering of residents set right in the center of the heart of it. Demetri spotted more than a few with the white-gold robes of bishops, but most who listened were dressed in common clothes. Like their guest outside the study now wore. Gray and unassuming. But each was still a voice. One that Oren was speaking directly to.

Turning, he beckoned William over. “Come. Tell me what you see.”

Grunting, the younger priest set his empty glass down and rose to his feet. He stopped by Demetri, glaring downwards. “Oren and his entourage, convincing all of Aurelion not to support you in saving the realm.”

“Yes, yes. But Oren specifically. What do you see when you look at him?”

“A fool,” he muttered.

“William.”

“Sorry, father. Sorry,” he sighed. “Forgive me.” Taking a deep breath, he schooled his expression. Likely recalling the lessons from his spymaster. Demetri waited patiently. Despite his youth, the young priest was intelligent. It’s why he’d brought him into the fold.

William studied what was happening below. From the look on his face, Demetri knew he was honing in on Oren. Observing the fervor in the bishop’s eyes. The quirks and furrows as he gave the sermon dressed up as a speech.

“I see… belief. Devotion.”

“Good, good. And what does that tell us?”

“It tells us that Oren really believes what he’s saying.”

Demetri clapped his hands softly together. “Bravo, boy. Bravo. You see? The Five school patience as much as they do mercy, and with it you can see more than your eyes will show you.”

“I see your point, father. But if I can be candid, I simply don’t see what it does for us. So father Oren believes what he’s saying? So what? It doesn’t change that he’s using the third coming to act as if demons could never return.”

“William, you realize that is the popular interpretation of the writ, correct?”

“I realize that the writ’s been interpreted in a myriad of ways over the years, and now’s a hell of a time to stop that tradition.”

“And what makes this such a… hell of a time?” Demetri replied in amusement.

“What we’ve just spent the better part of a week getting from those,” said William, waving at the witness reports on Demetri’s desk. Each either brought by agents, or transcribed by one of the two men in the study personally from the basins. “Or him. I tell you, father. His testimony alone worries me most of all. It makes interpreting the writ a moot point. The Five always have taught us that even they can not see the entirety of what lies before us. Sometimes, something new arises. I think that man has just given such an example—even if his demeanor leaves something to be desired.”

Demetri knew that by that man, he meant Commander Ashlan. Well, ex-commander Ashlan. “It seems unfair to judge the soldier by his attitude. Think of it from his perspective, William.” The high bishop took on the tone of a teacher, making William scowl. Yet, he listened. He always did. “The man’s been babysitting an incompetent child of a lord. And on that lord’s orders, led good men on a fool’s errand. They were perhaps the first in this entire world to truly meet enemies of The Five. Demons. And less than half of them came back. And what did he get for his trouble?”

The high bishop paused, placing a hand on William’s shoulder. “The first Solari Paladin to come North, to save Valdren from the darkness, came not with a golden sword of justice, but disbelief at their recounting of what they faced, and chains for their own. Chains for his men. And him. And, if it wasn’t for our agent, we both know Brexin would have had him executed on grounds of heretical nonsense. Honestly, part of me even wonders if Ashlan purposefully got himself arrested to spare more of his men.”

He shook his head. “No William. I think his demeanor is admirable, given the facts. You’ve spent almost as much time around him as I. You saw the truth in his eyes, the openness with which he shared, and his eagerness even now to help. When you walked in, that wasn’t the look of an ex garrison commander angry at his captors. It was the look of a citizen who simply fears for his kingdom.”

William didn’t look entirely convinced, but he did nod in acquiescence. “Alright father. I suppose I see your point. Maybe I was somewhat hasty. But if he’s as valuable as you say, then should we not just bring him to The Conclave? Let his voice help to balance out what Oren’s trying to do?”

Demetri snorted. Even William gave a sly grin at that. Both knew the impracticality of what he was suggesting. Many in the conclave would see him tried, cleansed, and executed just as fast as Brexin had. Some even more so. And then their only source of true knowledge from a ranking military officer from The North would be gone. Not to mention one that was both willing and trying to help.

Most in his shoes would not. The unrest from North Valdren was just that thick in regards to The Solari.

“If only. No, my son. What we need is a way to take what he’s told us, and shape it into something the rest of the bishopric will hear.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“I don’t know. Yet.” As he turned back to the study, his gaze caught on the bookshelf. On the dust-covered scrolls from the archives.

And I really don’t know what’s to be done about that either.

From what William had given him to dig up, he’d come to a conclusion. One that he feared to be true, but knew it must be. These demons—and yes, he did believe they were indeed demons—were on one of The Silences. One The Solari hadn’t known about. Where basins didn’t scry, holy magic didn’t work as it should, and The Five looked past.

Which meant Brexin, along with a hundred of his paladins, were walking straight into this unholy enemy.

Blind.

***

Brexin slammed the map down on the flat rockface, frost billowing. “This can’t be correct!” he hissed. “We’ve spent what must be a week, and our elevation is far below what this says. And by The Five, I know we haven’t seen this bend here,” he said, pointing a gloved finger at a junction in the map. Where they should have cut more to the northwest, but instead had been walking straight east for more than a day.

Arnold stepped forward, golden armor visible beneath the furs coating him. “Lord Paladin, if I may.”

“Yes, yes. You may Arnold. Why do you always ask ill thought out questions? If you have a suggestion, I am all ears. We are here,” he proclaimed, pointing at a spot about two days south of the pass’s exit into forest.

“Of course, Lord Paladin.” He pulled back the hood of his coat, before removing his helm. Cold sweat marred his bald head, already starting to solidify as the wind took hold.

He thought for several moments, taking in the map. Brexin wasn’t sure why. He’d seen it before several times.

“Lord Paladin, I think the cliff face behind us is the one this map calls Saber’s Ridge. See how it notates a large flat edge and a cave opening.” He motioned with a free hand at an open rock entrance far above them. “And if you consider its position relative to this incline, even with the snows, I believe we must be just north of Saber’s Ridge.”

“That… makes sense.” Brexin crossed his arms. “Or it would make sense, if Saber’s Ridge wasn’t two days north of Valdren. Five save me, if we were back by Saber’s Ridge then… then…”

Arnold nodded. “Yes, lord paladin. Then we’ve just made a large circle.”

That realization did not go over well. While Brexin tried to process that, part of him in disbelief and the other now seeing it to be true, he looked at the camping men below. Several were being treated for frostbite, one of the footmen had a foot amputated the day before last, and many were showing signs of sickness.

All the while, we’ve been wandering in circles?!

Several very quiet moments passed. Brexin grit his teeth, his own golden helm still held taut in his arm. He took three precise steps towards the path edge, staring out at the mountains. All he could see was white. Lots and lots of white.

“This… is a test. It must be. From The Five. They are testing us.”

Arnold did not point out the ridiculousness of The Five giving false maps as a test to their followers. Followers that were on a holy crusade to vanquish darkness from their very own realm, after all.

***

Brexin, Arnold, and their squad commanders called stop for camp early. They spent several hours poring over the maps, but the conclusions were the same. The paladins had made some progress, but the snow drifts and mysterious shifts of the pathing had caused them to be in a maze. And that maze didn’t match the maps they had.

They identified more than a dozen discrepancies. Some minor, but four were major. Three mismatched junctions and one huge elevation change that didn’t line up.

***

Hector trudged forward, cresting the next incline. A light snow flurry had begun, carpeting the pathway in front of them with a fresh coat of white. They’d taken to walking most of the day, mounts in tow. The current portion they trekked had the least certain footing, which made their horses nearly useless for anything more than pack animals.

He was just pondering if they should set up camp for the night when a glimmer of brown was revealed in the distance. Cupping a gloved hand under his hood, he narrowed his eyes.

“Say Aldous, I think we’ve found our missing paladins.”

“M-my lord,” he chittered.

He gave the servant a pat on the back. “Hang in there, old chap. We’ll see this through yet!” he replied with cheer. Internally, however, Hector was hoping for anything but.

Your terror will be one last, faithful service to the House.

He needed the paladins to see the man broken.

Hell, I need you to be broken. Which, as he studied the husk of a man barely staying upright, Hector thought already to be true.

Old Aldous’s change over the last month had been startling. Gone was the wise, faithful servant who put house above all, lord included. A servant that always had an opinion, and never shrank from sharing it.

Whatever happened in that tower… He shoved a gloved hand in his breast pocket, feeling the burnt, mysterious relic inside. Its warmth still pulsed, evidence that it was not any normal sigil. It couldn’t be. And its making broke old Aldous. And Elson.

But their sacrifice gave him something far more fascinating.

He let the events of his trip replay in his mind, focusing on all the fascinating bits.

Demons. Real flesh and blood demons! And the relic…

He was just recounting his final conversation with that demonic city lord when they’d made enough progress for the specks of brown to start morphing into men. Footmen, specifically. They all wore a variety of colors, evidence of coming from various Valdren kingdoms and lords.

To their rear, golden figures in fur capes and cloaks started to become visible as well. They were camped, sitting around small cooking fires that gave off weak wisps of smoke, fighting the biting cold.

A handful of minutes later, they finally noticed Hector’s approach. A call went out. But by that time, Hector had already seen all several hundred men in the camp. He could make out their armor, or lack of it.

And one man was most certainly not with them. Not unless they had him holed up somewhere.

Looks like Neve’s not here. But the paladins obviously are. They took their time too. By the looks of those cloaks, they’ve probably been out here for the better part of two weeks. Which means they have the wrong maps, and Neve’s played his part, unwillingly it may have been. Sorry old cousin. But as Aldous always said, you really were a fool.

“What do we tell them, my lord?” asked a guard.

“The truth. We went north, had a hell of a time finding our way, and mapped our way back. Oh—and best to keep the word demon from your lips. If mention of them should happen to come up in conversation, let’s just call them… exotic beasts,” advised Hector.

I’m willing to play a bluff with these paladins, but I’m not about to fold my whole damn hand.

Now it was time for one last gambit. As he witnessed the hobbled, frigid state of dozens of footmen, Hector felt a cold satisfaction. One that rivaled the howling winds to their rear.

Perfect.

Reaching behind, he undid his saddlebag.

***

Brexin was contemplating their best course when a call came from the lines on the northern path. “Men spotted!”

“Now what,” muttered the lord paladin, rising from the fur covered rock he rested upon.

By the time the newcomers made it to the ridge camp’s designated command area, Brexin had already surmised who it was. He was somewhat at a loss for how to feel.

A dozen paladins led the contingent up the steep incline. They’d been forced to leave their mounts by the footmen at the start of the temporary line below.

The lord paladin took in the sight of each man. Most of them were guardsmen, wearing the same blue and white uniforms that the Hallen garrison had. They stood crowded in a protective circle, hands on sword pommels. Their gazes flicked back and forth as they passed man after man. Slowly, their alertness went from protective duty to fear. Once they passed the last of the footmen and began trudging past golden paladins, it became despair.

All except for the two figures in their midst. One, a wiry old man, shaking so much he was visibly trembling. The other, a calm lordling, striding up the snowy ridge like it was his walk to the parlor.

“Halt!” shouted a paladin. “You approach Lord Paladin Brexin of The Sixth Hand!”

The party slowed to a stop, obeying the order. Hector Hallen stepped forward, a lavish brown coat draped over his shoulders. It’d clearly been tailored specifically for him. “Paladin,” he announced in greeting. “Fancy seeing you here! I am Hector Hallen of—”

Brexin intervened, raising a hand and stepping up between the guards and the newcomers. His helmet had been donned, golden crown gleaming in the sun. It made an imposing sight. He stood still for a moment, no one moving.

Attention gained, he spoke. “I know who you are. The Five sent me here to cleanse the taint your lands have brought. What I don’t know is why you are out here. You have much to answer for, Hector. The imposter of a noble you left knew little of your… actions.”

At his words, the paladins closed in. Each member of Hector’s party was grabbed on either side by a duo of golden armored forms. All save one.

The old man fell to his knees, hands clasped together. His black travel cloak was tangled about him, marred with orange and brown stains. Something about those stains tickled Brexin’s mind, but before he could think more on it the man broke into sobs. “Forgiveness, mighty paladin. Forgiveness. We are at your mercy!” he cried.

For the second time in as many minutes, Brexin stared, trying to decipher what exactly was going on. Hector’s servant just remained prostrated, tears dripping from cheek to snow, freezing into the terrain. “I see. At least one of you knows the path you’ve strayed from. What of the rest? What of you, lordling?”

“Oh, Brexin was it? Forgive my servant. We’ve been through dire straits. I fear it was too much for his mind to handle. As for your question… You know, I do agree that we’ve strayed from our path. If I had to guess, it seems that you have too.”

Seeing the glower on his face, Hector rushed to continue. “Not that it’s any fault of your own. Rather, I think you’ve fallen prey to the same dark clutches that brought us here. The machinations of the tainted. Prying fingers reaching where they should not.”

Brexin snorted. “What are you getting at? Your nonsensical words won’t bring you back to the path of the light.”

Instead of answering, Lord Hector reached into his coat. From within, he produced a rolled parchment.

“May I?”

Seeing nothing the incompetent lord could do to harm him, Brexin shrugged.

Hector moved past him, stopping next to the command maps. With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled his own parchment atop the paladins’.

“These are my current survey maps of The Spines. Updated and corrected over the last several weeks, by my own trekkers.” He smoothed the edges, weighing down the corners with loose stone. Then, he stepped back. “I believe you’ll find them more agreeable than whatever Neve handed you.”

Arnold stiffened. The bald paladin rushed over, leaning forward. His eyes traced the pathways, quickly identifying Saber’s Ridge, then the junction they’d missed, and finally the elevation markers.

He looked up at Brexin, giving him a short nod. “This seems to be correct from everything we reviewed, lord paladin. I can’t be certain, but…” Arnold shrugged. “All the corrections are made here from what I can see.”

And being that Hector Hallen was here, clearly in good straits…

The lord paladin said nothing for a long time. Wind howled between the peaks, tugging at golden capes and fur hoods alike. Around, paladins and footmen, and Valdren guards waited.

At last, Brexin spoke. “This changes nothing. Arnold. Choose two paladins and a handful of footmen. Use the corrected map to fix ours—good enough to make it out of here—and have them take Lord Hector and his party back to Aurelion.”

For a moment, Hector did nothing. A flash of something crossed his face that Brexin could have sworn was… satisfaction? Before he could parse it, the expression melted into an air of fear. Hector’s eyes widened and his breath seemed to catch. “Lord Paladin, you must understand that this seems—” An aggressive step from Arnold shut him up.

No further argument followed. No more protests. He watched in curiosity as Hector Hallen was placed in golden chains along with his comrades, and escorted out of the camp. The old servant that had been prostrate moments before now sobbing the whole way.

“Wait! No! Please! Have mercy! Have mercy!” sobbed the servant. Hearing his pitiful cries assuaged the suspicions and uncertainties tickling at the back of Brexin’s mind. The sound of the tainted finding their path always brought fresh warmth to his bones.

“No!” he repeated, more distantly this time.

With little preamble, he watched the small escort head down the incline. South. Following the corrected path back out of The Spines.

Once he was satisfied, he spun around. “Arnold!”

“Yes, Lord Paladin.”

“Prepare the lines. We have ground to make up. The Five are watching.”

“Of course. Yes, Lord Paladin!”

***

As the camp erupted into motion behind them, Hector Hallen shook the metal cuffs around his wrists. He frowned in discomfort, but did his best to keep it from showing. Instead, he looked back, gazing north. Past the snow and stone, to where the pass would eventually give way to dead forest and orange sand.

Right where I left you, Kairon. I do hope you’ve been busy. There may be a delay on the promised shipments. But they will come. Eventually.

You’ll see.