SSS Awakening: I Can Devour Gods to Evolve My Goddesses

Chapter 23: The Costliest Exception

By the time Marek pushed the second wooden crate beneath the gray awning, another Lord had already bought his labor for the next three days.

Three days’ wages rested on the cart shaft, not a coin short.

Cassian arrived just in time to see the last copper coin drop. His chest tightened first.

The sound was lighter than the Bell-Keeper’s bone bell, but it made him just as uncomfortable.

The young man beside the cart turned around. Ash stained the cuffs of his coat.

Cassian had seen that face before.

Crownspire Awakening Square.

When the pillar of lightning rose, this man had stood in a more distant line. Later, his name had appeared on the Newcomer Divine Essence Ranking as well—below Cassian’s.

”Joren Pike.”

The other man gave his name first. His gaze rested on Cassian’s face for half a beat.

”I remember you.”

”A lot of people remember first place,” Cassian said.

Joren did not follow that with flattery. He patted one of the now-empty crates.

”Half a day late yesterday, but they still arrived today. No cracks in the crates. Nothing missing inside.”

Marek was gathering his short hemp rope.

”So you bought another three days of his time?” Cassian asked.

”The next three days.”

”He has other work.”

”I know. That’s why I bought guaranteed time.”

Marek tightened the knot without speaking for either side.

Cassian had come prepared to name a price for a longer commitment—enough to keep Marek available whenever the underground dawn tide might rise, so one outside job could no longer turn the first relay back into an empty stone platform.

”Those three days can be divided,” Joren said. ”Mark out the hours when you need him.”

Cassian did not answer.

The Bell-Keeper would not send its footprints in advance so he could mark the right hours on a cart shaft. Nor would the warning wait politely because Marek happened to be hauling someone else’s cargo.

”I need him to come to me first.”

”When?”

”When I call.”

Joren gave a short laugh. Not mockery. More like he was making sure he had heard correctly.

”Then all three days have to stay empty.”

”I’ll pay him to wait.”

”My cargo will be waiting too.”

”The losses can be priced.”

Even as Cassian said it, he was already calculating the wages, lost work, and waiting fees required to buy Marek out for all three days.

Buy all of it.

Make Joren’s crates disappear from Marek’s path.

The thought gave him a moment of satisfaction. If he paid everyone else’s price, then every other arrangement would have to bend around him.

But next time, there might be more money on the cart shaft. The time after that, the work might be steadier and last longer.

All Cassian would have purchased was a man standing in place—not the judgment that man would make when danger appeared.

Cassian did not reach for his money, but neither did he yield.

”Priority,” he said. ”If something happens, he comes to me first.”

Joren shook his head.

”You’re publicly ranked first.”

”I’m F-tier.”

”So am I.”

Joren pushed the three days’ wages closer to Marek.

”My cargo can’t wait for a first-place Lord who won’t name an hour, a place, or an upper limit.”

He knew neither the true location nor the enemy. He knew only that Cassian wanted a man but refused to name a time. That was enough for him to refuse.

Cassian looked at Marek.

”What do you choose?”

”Three days of guaranteed work.”

Marek put the money into his pocket.

”If you want me at your site today, today’s price is separate. My next three days are already sold.”

Cassian clenched his back teeth.

That was not betrayal. The fact that it was not made it sting more.

Yesterday, Marek’s hand had lowered the road through the underground dawnlight. Today, three guaranteed workdays had bought that same hand first.

”Come with me today,” Cassian said.

”Terms for this round first.”

”One underground dawn tide. The same warning. The same right to withdraw. If you actually have to act, that’s paid separately.”

”Agreed.”

Joren lifted the empty crate.

”The two of you can negotiate again after those three days.”

He did not ask where Marek was going, nor did he try to sell Cassian a favor.

The cart wheels soon rolled across the gravel beyond the gray awning and left the loading yard.

Cassian watched the cart recede.

His name still sat at the top of the public ranking.

Marek’s next three days of labor were no longer available to Cassian.

—

Cassian left Marek outside the Chain Gate and returned alone to the black-gold divine throne.

”How long did you buy him for this time?” Veyra asked.

”One underground dawn tide.”

”How much of his time did you want to buy?”

Cassian did not answer. Veyra did not press him for a price.

Her right hand still rested on the closed main roll. Orin’s half-mark remained seated in its original narrow slot, neither glowing nor moving.

”The Bell-Keeper no longer knows which hand will lower the road,” she said.

”That’s good.”

”That only helped us last time.”

Veyra’s fingers pressed against the main roll.

”It once used your footsteps to measure when the road would fall. That ruler is broken now.”

”So it will find another one.”

”A new way to confirm. A new inducement,” Veyra said. ”Or some other method of finding out whether you will still appear in person.”

Cassian looked at Orin’s half-mark.

The Bell-Keeper still held two bone bells, a tension gauge, and Orin’s name strip. It could show any one of them, but the price attached to each might no longer be what it had been before.

”Next time, the road may not be what it is trying to confirm,” Veyra said.

Cassian did not answer.

He brought Marek to the near-side control.

First, Cassian went inside the Chain Gate and relit the exhausted warning point. Then he returned and registered Marek’s right hand in the shallow palm outline.

Marek flexed his fingers.

”What am I watching for this round?”

”A complete footprint. Same as before.”

Cassian paused.

”If it stops beyond the second gap and holds up anything, press the warning first. Call stop, collect your rope, and come back.”

”Do I lower the road?”

”If there’s a complete footprint.”

”If there isn’t?”

”Wait for me to confirm.”

Marek looked at him.

”I won’t read whatever it’s holding.”

”You don’t need to.”

”If you step onto the plate, I don’t lower it.”

”That hasn’t changed.”

That was the only exception.

Anything with an unknown purpose still had to be brought before Cassian and classified by him personally.

He liked keeping that opening in his own hands.

Marek stepped onto the black-gold plate alone.

Cassian watched him reach the first relay and loop the short hemp rope only around his own arm. Then Cassian turned back toward the Chain Gate.

The broken chains had barely closed when the first bone bell rang in the distance.

It was shorter than the last time. Its echo died as soon as it touched the stone wall.

Cassian’s right hand dropped onto the control rod.

Before the second ring came, the dark-gold point inside the Gate jolted.

Thud.

Cassian forced the control rod down at once. The broken chains rose. His right shoulder pulled under the strain, and his knee had already turned toward the door.

Marek stood beside the near-side palm outline. The short hemp rope was still over his shoulder. His right hand had not pressed the road-lowering mark.

”What?” Cassian asked.

”It didn’t approach. It stopped beyond the second gap and held up a strip of dark copper.”

”Footprint?”

”Not one complete print.”

”So you didn’t lower the road.”

”You told me to wait for your confirmation.”

Cassian looked at the black-gold plate, still raised.

Marek added one more sentence.

”If you’re stepping onto it now, I’m even less likely to press.”

Cassian had already started forward.

The Bell-Keeper had just lost the ruler it used to measure when the road would fall. Now it had stopped beyond the second gap and deliberately raised an object, waiting for word to travel back.

It might be an inducement. It might be a new attack, a transaction, or an attempt to test passage.

If Cassian did not learn what the act meant, he could not give the next observer a rule for it.

Pain stabbed deep in his knee with his first step onto the black-gold plate. He did not activate Predator Step or draw the broken-chain blade.

If the Bell-Keeper truly tried to cross, he still had enough distance to retreat to the near side and lower the road himself.

He was going to price an unknown enemy action.

By the time he reached the first relay, underground dawnlight was rising along the second gap.

The Bell-Keeper stood on a patch of golden footing on the far side that had not yet crumbled, one hand raised before its chest. Between two fingers, it held an ordinary dark-copper name strip.

Orin Hale.

The moment Cassian read the name, the gray-white mask tilted up slightly.

The Bell-Keeper did not look at the road behind him. It looked only at Cassian.

Then the hand lowered. The Bell-Keeper turned and receded with the ebbing underground dawn tide.

It never tried to take the road.

Only then did the pain in Cassian’s right shoulder truly sink its teeth in.

Standing on the first relay, Cassian suddenly understood what it had gained today.

It had not come for the road.

It had traded Orin’s name for Cassian himself.

Only now did Cassian understand that it was no longer studying only when the road would fall.

It had begun studying him.

Cassian slowly loosened his grip on the broken-chain blade.

There was no value in pursuing it. Temporary golden footing appeared only beneath the Bell-Keeper’s steps. The underground dawn tide was already receding, and anger would not make his knee or shoulder whole again.

He turned back toward the near side.

Marek still stood outside the palm outline.

”You saw it clearly?”

”Clearly.”

”What was it?”

”Not part of what you bought.”

Marek nodded and did not ask again.

Cassian stared at his right hand.

The question had already reached his teeth: Why didn’t you lower the road?

If Marek had pressed the mark, the Bell-Keeper would have seen the road sink before Cassian appeared. That hand could have done it.

Cassian was also the one who had expressly forbidden it.

A complete footprint—or wait for his confirmation.

The anger did not disappear. It merely turned away from Marek’s face and lodged itself back in Cassian’s throat.

The most expensive thing today was not the warning fee, Marek’s wage, or the three payments Joren had laid on the cart shaft.

It was the instruction Cassian himself had left behind.

Wait for me to confirm.

”You’ll be paid for this round,” Cassian said.

”One warning.”

”Count it.”

”I didn’t lower the road.”

”That fee doesn’t count.”

Marek put away the money and glanced at the shallow palm outline.

”My hand is still in it.”

”You didn’t lower the road. The authorization wasn’t used.”

”I won’t be here for the next three days.”

”I know.”

This time, Cassian spoke slowly.

There was a hand inside the palm outline, yet the first relay would still have no one standing on it.

Cassian personally escorted Marek out through the true entrance. Joren’s cart was already waiting outside for its next run.

Marek tied the short hemp rope behind his shoulder and walked toward the cart shaft without looking back.

—

After returning to the Shrine, Cassian reported only three things: a dark-copper name strip, no complete footprint, and the Bell-Keeper withdrawing as soon as it saw him.

”It didn’t call Orin,” Veyra said.

Cassian stopped before the main roll.

”It called you.”

”I heard it.”

His voice was cold. Veyra offered no comfort.

Orin’s half-mark remained quietly seated in its narrow slot. It had not moved at all when the name strip was raised.

Cassian had.

”Next time,” Cassian said, ”if anyone sees a dark-copper name strip in its hand, they don’t need to read it. They don’t need to know whose name it is.”

”Then what?”

”Press the warning. Withdraw to the near side. Lower the road.”

”Even without a footprint?”

”An enemy holding up a soldier’s name to call at the door is already a hostile act.”

Veyra’s fingers slowly tightened against the main roll.

”That name will not knock on your door for it.”

”The name belongs to your roll,” Cassian said. ”The action belongs to my road.”

Cassian returned to the near side of the Chain Gate.

The black-gold plate was still raised. The warning had been exhausted. The shallow palm outline still retained the shape of Marek’s right hand.

But for the next three days, that hand would be moving cargo for Joren.

Cassian did not rub the palm outline again.

He still needed someone who could hold that position for the long term. That was the next account he had to settle.

The Bell-Keeper had believed Orin’s name could buy Cassian’s footsteps.

This time, it had.

That was all it would ever buy.

Next time, that name should not call him.

It should call the road down.