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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 73: The Realm Beyond God
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 05:12:03 +0000 UTCLucius gave his fellows an enthusiastic round of applause and welcomed them back as the storm began to wane. The clouds parted, the rain les
Lucius gave his fellows an enthusiastic round of applause and welcomed them back as the storm began to wane. The clouds parted, the rain lessened, and even the ever-prevalent mist seemed to float away: like the light sprinkle of morning dew after a long, long shower.
Mili promptly fell onto her rear and muttered a groan. She slowly stood up, rubbed her forehead, and occasionally jerked in spasms from the occasional electric overload. She was, relatively, unharmed; but the strain of absorbing so much lightning led to her emitting a constant static discharge that poofed her hair and slurred her words.
“T-T-That was friggin terrifying!” she yelped, struggling to stay still. “But goshdarn if I-I-I didn’t feel one heck of an adrenaline rush! Let’s do that again sometime.”
A loud thud crashed right behind her, and she turned around to meet the smoking, quite literally, body of Marco, who was covered all over in black ash and soot. Lucius couldn’t even make out his face amidst the char, but the old mobster cracked his neck and greeted them with his typical gruff voice.
“I’d rather we not,” he said, instinctively reaching for his pocket, only to stop himself at the last moment. “Ah, hell… forget it. A smoke’s the last thing I need right now.”
“Oh, you indulge in a bit of tobacco, Mister Bernardi?” Lucius asked, before quickly setting to work and doing his best to make the man look presentable. Well, as presentable as one could be whilst looking like a burnt cigar. “That is surprising. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you do so, not after the tutorial at least.”
Marco coughed and fanned himself with his scorched hat. “Yeah, figured it’d be best to quit if I was gonna be around youse people. Don’t wanna irritate anybody. Besides, so much nonsense has happened these past few months that I just sorta forgot about it.”
“Well, perhaps that is for the best. Smoking causes lung cancer, I must have you know.”
He laughed. “Don’t I know it.”
After Lucius finished scrubbing all the ash off, the good Miss Harper joined them after having finished her duties as an impromptu medic. She was among the few players with medical knowledge; and so she had attended to the wounded caught in the crossfire of the thunderbirds’ rampage. Fortunately, no one had actually perished. Most of the scare came from the flood.
“Turns out, a lot of folks have trouble swimming while decked out in full armor,” she groaned, squeezing the water out of her hair. “The other players are fine. Some standing near Mili got a bit shocked, but they’ll get better with a little shut eye. The priests are a different story, though. You’d think they were just mummified with how bony they look! Casting all those spells must’ve taken a toll. Standing in all that cold water probably didn’t help, either.”
Speaking of water, the flood level had gradually receded into the mud after the thunderbirds were slain. Lucius didn’t quite understand how that worked; but he didn’t bother to think too deeply about it. No need to trudge through shallow waters anymore, at least!
His fellows in armor seemed to agree with him. They took apart their equipment one by one and drained any loose liquid from it, before taking a second to sit down and catch a breather, their bodies utterly spent from the chaos just experienced.
Toward the front, Sir Renaud and Maugris kneeled over the mud as well. They didn’t care much about getting themselves dirty. Dignity, appearance… none if it mattered in the face of overwhelming fatigue.
Lucius strode toward the silent men and offered them some refreshments, which they gratefully accepted. Sir Maugris looked gaunt and sunken, one slight breeze away from toppling over entirely. His hands shook fiercely as he took a teacup; and the liquid splashed onto his pale lips, unwilling to remain steady.
“That was an impressive display, my friend,” Lucius said to him. “The prayers of priestfolk are a joy to witness firsthand.”
The man laughed, but such simple reaction proved too great a strain, and he soon descended into a coughing fit. “You overestimate me, Sir Lucius. I typically specialize in matters of support, so to be forced into casting a greater spell—it is quite the strain, to put it simply.”
Just then, Sir Renaud replied with a low chuckle, and then slapped Maugris’s shoulder. “There is a certain point when excess humility is no better than arrogance. You performed… adequately. So behave as such. The Maugris I knew was not one to shy away from praise.”
“... Truly?” the priest said, eyeing Renaud as if he were a stranger. “Sir Lucius, I must ask you to slap me. To think this arrogant young master would deign to compliment me… I fear exhaustion has riddled my brain with delusions.”
Sir Renaud did the slapping in Lucius’s stead. His was a firm hand, surprisingly, and a red handprint was left on Maugris’s cheek.
“When have I ever been one to discredit the accomplishments of another?”
“Did you not, upon our journey’s leave, accuse me of acquiring my position solely through talent?”
“That is that, and this is this.”
Renaud promptly turned around and called for a servant to hurry over. His orders were simple. The expedition would keep moving until they reached the next landmark of their journey: the Crag-Stone Cliffs, where encounters with beasts and danger should hopefully be less common. The wetlands, despite the thunderbirds’ mayhem, was still a perilous region. The other mire inhabitants had been driven off for now, but they knew not when the things would return—the group was not in good condition to fend off another attack. Better to exert themselves now than to risk the consequences later.
Before they left, however, Lucius and the players organized a quick feast for the paladins. It was nothing fancy: sandwiches, energy drinks, simple foods that could be inhaled quickly and sate their hunger. A few good-intentioned folks wanted to prepare more savory and filling items, but Anthony the chef strictly pleaded against it, mentioning the importance of eating light for long marches. Oils and fats would only upset the stomach. Lucius meanwhile prepared a large cooler full of hot tea - a coconut-hibiscus fusion he had invented back on earth. It had everything one needed to face the day: potassium, magnesium, copper and iron nutrients, and all sorts of important antioxidants. Plus, it tasted quite refreshing.
Indeed, the gentleman could practically feel his reputation points climbing as he distributed the lovely drink to the Frankishmen. Their eyes lit up on the spot, and they stood back up with a laugh and a hearty thump of their chests. Lucius stored the leftover tea in Mili’s subspace skill.
With bodies reinvigorated and spirits high, Expedition Argo once again marched forth across the Misty Wetlands. They were still somewhat cautious; but otherwise they allowed themselves to settle down and breathe. Maugris kept watch as usual and scanned their surroundings. But he would discover nothing of concern for the next few hours. There was only the steady cadence of footsteps and rolling carriage wheels.
The suns blazed their fiercest a little around what Lucius believed to be after noon. Twelve hours had passed since their departure at Burgundy; it felt much longer than that, but it was a comfort nonetheless to know they were making progress. With the arrival of higher temperatures also came a clearer vision. The mist was not as thick as it was before, and so did the gentleman gaze out to the beauty of the countryside.
He saw quaint rivers flowing by, the waters crystal clear and sparkling under the light. Some spots were muddy while others were dense in vegetation, shrubs, and even some colorful flora. They were similar in appearance to the hallucinogenic Belikorn flower Lucius kept stored away; however, his affinity skill gave no indication of danger. These blossoms were likely a related species, one without the mind-altering side effects. Still, they were pleasant to look at, and so the gentleman snagged a few for his personal viewing pleasure and tucked them away in his handkerchief.
In the hour preceding the sunset, the expedition found themselves trampling across, not mud nor sludge, but solid ground. The mist parted fully, and the rivers and brooks made way for an earthy canyon of red sediment, rocks, and great chasms that dropped down into an unending black void.
So this was the Crag-Stone Cliffs… how very rustic. Lucius wasn’t a man to appreciate only greenery; the valleys here had their own unique little charm. From the dusty highwinds to the musical echoes ringing out from the stone formations in the gorge below, this place was a much needed refresher after the damp and humid swamps they had just mucked through.
The sight reminded the gentleman of the wide ranges of the Grand Canyon back on earth. Indeed, the view of the sunset there was just gorgeous. It was such a shame that his vacation then was cut short after a particular scuffle with the elusive American mythical creature known as Bigfoot—who, as it turned out, was not a myth after all. Lucius’s battle with the twenty-foot tall creature lasted for a whole week before he emerged victorious. The last he saw of the thing was its content eyes as it fell into the darkness of the canyon, forever vanished into obscurity.
Lucius wondered if there were similar creatures roaming around here. Now that was an entertaining thought!
“Mm. This is an adequate spot. Let us rest for a few hours.”
Sir Renaud leaned back, let out a tired grumble, and then beckoned his entourage to gather. From thereon, the expedition transformed into a solid base. Carriages were taken apart and reassembled to serve as the foundation for the encampment; and the Franks set up sleeping bags, fire pits, tents, stakes and fences to line a perimeter, and various stations where one could ‘cleanse’ themselves to put it politely. Lucius marveled at how quickly everything was put together.
Soon, paladins and priests alike deviated from their formations, and they took off to relax for a spell. A rotation was assigned where some would stand guard at the lookout in case of danger, but everyone else was given free reign to do as they wished. Renaud had already given Lucius permission to leave; thus he harkened back to his fellow players and talked amongst them about their future plans.
They had already garnered some goodwill from the Franks due to the thunderbird business before, but now was the time to show them the true capability of the otherworlders. And they would do so through hospitality.
With a snap of his fingers, Lucius purchased a giant catalogue of amenities: toothbrushes, blankets, pillows, and everything else needed to turn this campsite into a five-star resort. He even bought a heated spa, although that one was more for his own indulgences, but who said he couldn’t get more? Price was of no concern to the gentleman anymore. He could buy a hundred spas if he so desired, but for now he settled with five. The more the merrier! And soon, players and Frankishmen both flocked to occupy a space in the steaming waters. Their fatigue melted away, bodies submerged in the bubbling foam.
“Your strange tricks never fail to surprise me,” Renaud said, joining Lucius in the bath. “Mm… this is good. Even better than the lodge at the estate.”
“I did see a similar, although more sophisticated, bathhouse at the castle, but there’s a certain charm to roughing it out in the wilderness that you can’t obtain whilst surrounded by marble. At least here, the setting sky is in full view.”
Renaud laughed and let his head float above the water. “Yes, I see it clearly. How interesting. Never before have I cared to gaze at the Stars, but now… I cannot help but find that setting violet to be beautiful.”
“Beautiful, indeed.”
There was no end to beauty. Sometimes, it took a change in scenery for one to truly appreciate that which laid beyond their small corner of the world.
Eventually, the day turned into night, and the expedition members snuck into their cots before quietly drifting away to slumber. Nary a soul was awake save for the guards—and Lucius of course. He couldn’t sleep now, not when a certain inquisitive soul had yet to seek him out.
“... Having trouble sleeping, Sir Lucius?”
A familiar voice grew close as the gentleman stood nonchalantly near the camp’s border. He turned around, and came face to face with the good Sir Maugris.
“Not quite. I merely wish to savor the evening’s grace a little while longer.”
The man didn’t reply. Instead, he took a seat by Lucius’s side and gazed up at the Stars alongside him. “I cannot blame you. In my youth, I, too, would spend hours simply looking out to those shining lights high above.”
“You speak as if you have stopped.”
Maugris chuckled. “I have been quite busy since then. Now, I… no longer find joy in it.” He remained silent for a moment, and traced his finger along the cold red soil. There was a gloss in his eyes—dim and murky—as he immersed himself in a time long gone. “Do you know of the Stars, Sir Lucius?”
“Not as much as I’d like to, admittedly.”
“They are the kinfolk of our God, higher beings from an age before our world, before time, before the creation of everything. It is my duty as a priest to know the words and stories of that unfathomably grand cosmos; and yet knowing is not the same as understanding.”
Maugris picked up a small rock. He studied it briefly, feeling the curves and hard edges, before clenching it tight and then throwing it up to the sky. It disappeared from sight, for a little while, but that rock came falling down eventually. It could not reach those far-away heights, no matter how hard it was thrown. Such was unsurprising. A rock cannot pierce the heavens - to return to the land was its inevitable fate.
“I loved those stories, the tales of our Lord out on adventure,” he said, staring at the fallen thing with a deep sadness. “My curiosity was insatiable even as a babe. Hah, the books I poured through would be enough to fill a small library, and yet I hungered for more—I yearned to step closer to that realm I could not fathom. And before I knew it, the Holy Order had proclaimed me a prodigy. It was… unexpected.”
“You did not want to become a priest?” Lucius asked.
Maugris hesitated, unsure how exactly to respond. “Nothing so negative as that. Rather, it would be more accurate to say that the thought hardly crossed my mind. I was more interested in the pursuit of magery; and it just so happened that becoming a priest was the easiest path to do so. I could study the scriptures, explore the hidden sections of the sanctum without restriction. Of course I am still a man devoted to the Chivalry practiced by our God, and yet I cannot help but question my progress. Forty years have I lived and embraced all that the Lord has granted—and what do I have to show for it? Am I any closer to the Stars I so craved to match? The answer is no, and it has stayed that way for longer than I can remember. That is… until I met you.”
Maugris’s demeanor had changed: it was more intense, more bold. A maniacal glint flashed across him faster than he could realize, but Lucius saw it—a whisper that urged the priest to chase after that which was forbidden, even if it came at the cost of all he cherished.
“When you spoke those words of possibility to me,” he said. “I felt a stir in my heart unlike any in my later years. I thought to myself then… yes, this was the clue I sought. This was the answer to my long lapse of progress. I had to seize that chance, or else risk losing it forever.”
Lucius silently watched on as the man before him descended further and further into his fixation. The sociable man of before was gone; replaced by this shivering wretch begging for the smallest scrap of alms.
The gentleman grinned, and leaned in to whisper into his ear. “I will ask only once more. Are you certain of this? The knowledge that you seek may not be what you’d like to hear.”
The man gulped, and for a second Lucius could well and truly see a faint hint of reluctance within him. But Maugris chose to seal his fate. He took a deep breath, and then nodded his head.
“Yes,” he said. “Tell me, Lucius.”
And thus came the final unraveling.
“Very well.” Lucius stepped back and gestured to him with an outstretched palm. “Allow me to ask you a question, first. What is the source of your power? How is it that you can cast spells?”
The priest pondered. “The Lord? It is because of his grace that we are allowed to call upon a portion of his power.”
But Lucius shook his head. “Wrong.”
“What? How could that be—”
“Try again.”
Maugris scowled and clutched his head. “Is it… perhaps the Holy Gems? Although our people view them as amplifiers rather than the origin of our boons, it is difficult to invoke a prayer without its use. Perhaps the secret lies within them?”
“Wrong. The answer is simpler than you think, my friend. Look inwards. Where does it all begin? What must come first before the jewels, before the prayers, before everything?”
The man pulled his hair back in frustration. He muttered, and scratched, and tormented himself in a flurry of discoherent ramblings before, eventually, he gave up. He closed his eyes and sighed, ready to admit his inadequacy.
But then, when his emotions were at its calmest, it came to him. His eyelids shot open, and he mumbled a single word that came across more as a question rather than a clear response.
“... Faith?”
Lucius walked up to the man, and then patted his shoulder.
“To be more precise, it is a wish,” he said. “The pure, raw thirst to make that which should be impossible… well, possible. This desire rests dormant within everyone. But it is thanks to the zealotry of religion—a medium that allows you to concentrate through a tangible conduit—that the force beyond the world’s veil is given physical manifestation. It is not God that grants you power, Maugris. It is yourself.”
It was as if a hex had overtaken the priest’s heart. He stumbled over his speech and grabbed onto his chest as if to prevent something inside from leaking out, but it was no use. The truth had already claimed him.
“I… but then why… the Chevaliers? His Holiness? The sacred church was… wrong? I cannot believe it.”
Lucius chucked. “You do not need to believe. Witness it with your own eyes. To do that, how about we put this theory to the test?”
“How?”
“Simple: try casting a spell without the crutch of crystal or prayer. When you feel a sensation tingling in your soul, do not call out to God. Let it flow naturally. Allow it to speak its truth to you in its own words.”
Maugris stared at his sceptre for a long while, and then as naturally as the swaying wind, he let go and watched it smack onto the ground.
“... It will not work,” he muttered, attempting to resist the heresy eroding his faith. But alas. His trembling lips, his creeping, insidious grin—they betrayed what he truly felt. “Surely, it will yield naught but wasted effort.”
“We shall see, won’t we?”
“Yes. I suppose we will.”
Maugris clenched his teeth and concentrated. There was nothing, at first. Only the breeze and the faint echo of stone-song. After some time Lucius began to suspect that he was actually wrong after all; but those concerns would soon be put to rest as something that should have been impossible materialized near Maugris’s face.
A ball of fire. It was simple, really. A childish spell compared to the ones he demonstrated before. But what made this fire special was the potential it posed: a primal kindling derived neither from holy intervention or outside aid. This fire came solely from the dregs of Maugris’s soul.
“Ah,” he gasped, reaching out to that flickering flame. “I… have just blasphemed, haven’t I? Committed the unforgivable. So why am I filled with such bliss?”
Maugris quickly snuffed the flame and scampered back, terrified by his own potential and the implication of what he had just wrought. “Oh, forgive me. My Lord, my God, the Almighty… what am I to say to you? Is your presence really fake?” He turned to Lucius with pleading eyes and begged the gentleman to dispute him otherwise. “Tell me, Sir Lucius. Tell me that it is not so. God is real, right?”
But he would receive no comfort from him. Instead, Lucius tipped his hat and began to walk away. But before he did so, he bid the priest a final farewell. “Only one person can decide that, my friend. Your interpretation of these events is solely your own. Priest, heretic, or something more—such titles matter when met with the truth.”
With that, he vanished into the darkness, leaving Sir Maugris alone to contemplate his newfound revelation in silence.
To seek solace in a divinity he could no longer trust.
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Jonas
Bonus chapter! I got into a good writing flow recently, so here's an extra chapter for today's upload. Enjoy!
