Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 156: The Deepest Doctrine

Toren Daen

"Mardeth, First Vicar of the Doctrination of Etril, has been slain," a monotone, near-robotic voice said from the recording artifact in my hands. "In a contest of souls, he was proven the weaker of wills. Thus, the Plaguefire Incursion was halted." High Vicar Varadoth's eye sockets–pierced by his own horns–bled a steady stream of black liquid. "Spellsong has proven his strength to all of Alacrya. But his words have not proven sufficient to me."

I watched the recording mutely, feeling a coiling dread in my stomach. My hands clenched around the artifact, Varadoth's words echoing in my ears.

"The Second Doctrine demands a reason for strength. And now, Toren Daen, that reason has been extinguished by your own hand. So come. Prove to me that you are worthy of the power you still wield. For power without purpose is a sword without a hilt." Varadoth's face was cast in an ominous shadow. "Show me the strength of your blade."

The recording stopped, and the final image portrayed on the pane of mana was entrenched in my mind.

"High Vicar Varadoth issued this decree publicly not an hour ago," Seris said seriously. We'd shifted to her private quarters in the Fiachra Ascender's Association, and I'd quickly discarded my medical equipment as the implications nearly overwhelmed me. "And it must be answered."

I remembered the beating heart of Varadoth's power. How his mana trailed behind him like a never-ending cloak when he entered the ballroom; a portent of doom.

Immediately, I knew him to be more than my match. Even under the effects of the Second Phase–Soulplume, as I liked to call it–I knew my power would not be enough to contend with the High Vicar.

"I'm not strong enough yet to face the High Vicar," I said, grinding my teeth. "If I go to that Cathedral, challenging the man to a straight fight, I will die."

Seris' onyx eyes flashed, her pearlescent hair shifting as she took the recording artifact from my hands. "Yet, Lord Daen?"

I felt the onset of a headache as I tried to work a way out of this. "I have no doubt you noticed my absurd growth in strength," I said, pacing in the room as I tried to think of a way I could stall Varadoth. Put off our confrontation for another few months; maybe a year? "I just need time."

Time I didn't have. If I denied Varadoth his fight, what would happen to Fiachra? If this man felt slighted, was he prone to retaliate as Mardeth was?

I belatedly realized that Varadoth might be one of the most dangerous people I'd ever met. If not in raw power, then simply because he seemed to believe in the words he spoke. A man who truly believed, with every fiber of his being, in the Doctrine of Strength...

It called to mind the men who changed the world in my previous life. Those who were capable of the most change–the most harm–were those who believed in ideals without caring for opposing evidence.

Seris' cool voice flowed like water from a soothing stream. "You will not be facing this alone, Lord Daen."

I halted in my tracks, turning back to the Scythe with surprise. Cylrit's reaction, however, was not so muted. He took a step forward, his expression pinched.

"Lady Seris, I beg you to reconsider," he said, his intent fluctuating with deep-seated worry. "To approach High Vicar Varadoth on his terms within his place of power... You would be disadvantaged in every way."

The Retainer carefully kept his eyes away from me as he essentially promoted sending me to my death.

Dick.

Seris thankfully shook her head, her pearlescent locks swaying rhythmically. "Varadoth will not act with deceit. His own personal philosophy will not allow it when it comes to direct confrontations of power. Yet..."