The Hundred Reigns 92: The Church of the Stars (4) (Patreon)

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True to its worship of Visionaries, the Church of the Light had accumulated a treasure trove of documents on the subject of prophecies.

Translations of ancient prophecies, dream accounts, studies on all forms of divinations known to man, multiple philosophy treatises on fate and free will, biographies of long-dead seers… one could spend a lifetime inside these halls without reading everything. Visionaries had existed on this planet since before the invention of the written word, and the Church had methodically recorded everything there was to learn about them. Simon might as well have been in bookworm paradise. 

The chronomancy section was much less complete, yet no less furnished either. Meredith’s help had been precious in navigating the library. She found him a book called Chronomicon, Volume I, by the archmage Maximilien Nocte, which proved rather enlightening. 

The man was better known today as a mad sorcerer who had tried to harvest a whole manatree to fuel his time-travel spell and died in the attempt, but he used to be the world’s foremost authority on the subject during Gargauth’s time. One of the chapters detailing the interactions between divination and chronomancy was especially fascinating to Simon. 

If we regard the present state of the universe as the effect of its past and the cause of its future, then we must assume that an intellect capable of apprehending the position of all things of which nature is composed, and with the ability to process this massive sum of information, would be capable of calculating everything from the movements of the greatest celestial bodies to the tiniest mana particle. To such an unfathomably powerful intellect, the future would always appear certain, predictable, and immutable. 

If we assume that the Worldsoul is the sum of all souls and knowledge of all life on this world, then this would explain the existence of prophecies: since nothing is truly random in a universe defined by causality, the accumulated memories and information of the past compose an aggregate capable of predicting the future with complete accuracy. Visionaries, beings capable of interfacing with the Worldsoul, would receive glimpses of an already written future. 

In this hypothesis, foresight would be a trap: since Visionaries are granted their gifts by causality, it was foretold that they would glimpse the future in the first place. Whether a seer’s reaction would be to try fulfilling or denying the prophecies is irrelevant, since all their actions will serve to fulfill an immutable future. Looking at a vision of tomorrow ensures it comes to pass because this act was already accounted for.

This would also explain why all my attempts at creating chronomancy spells capable of returning to the past—even by as little as a second—have abysmally failed: since returning to the past and changing it would prevent the future that the caster originated from existing in the first place, thus induce an irreconcilable paradox, such these attempts are fundamentally doomed to fail. Altering the past cannot be done in a deterministic universe ruled by fate. The rules of magic, that ultimately derive from the Worldsoul, will not allow it.

And yet… and yet prophecies are seemingly not as reliable as they were in ancient times. How can one reconcile the infallibility of foresight with the Oracle’s failures at delivering the Overlord’s promised fall, or that villain’s uniquely impervious protection against divination? My studies of ancient prophets’ writing have revealed a steady increase in inaccuracies over the centuries. Is it because their failures were predetermined, or their skills insufficient to properly process the Worldsoul’s visions? Or something else entirely?

It started off so well… until Simon hit the bane of all scholars. A word cursed by seekers of knowledge across the empire, written at the center of a magical seal erasing every sentence written around it.

[CENSORED]

Simon had expected much censorship from an institution infamous for burning the books of rival cults alongside their worshipers, but he struggled to contain his frustration. A good tenth of the book was gone, replaced with a single word celebrating ignorance over truth. 

“Have you found the second volume?” Simon asked Meredith.

“I asked Izulon about it. They have two copies, but since they contain heretical hypotheses, the Confessors ordered them placed in the restricted archives.”

Of course. Simon had the sneaking suspicion he would find an uncensored version of the first volume there too. “Can we at least borrow books?” 

“A squire can borrow up to three books at once,” Meredith confirmed. “A spell woven in the pages will bring them back to the library should the librarian require them, if they suffer from damage, or if they are taken off the premises.”

“I see.” Simon wondered if that spell would trigger if he stocked the books in his Inventory. Trying it now would be foolish and useless, so he put that idea aside. “It’s getting late, so I’ll pick Chronomicon, Meditations on the nature of the Light, and Three Eyes, One Fate.”

“Very well, Your Highness.” Meredith couldn’t contain her curiosity. “If I may ask, what are you looking for exactly?”

The truth. “I’ve had extremely vivid dreams since childhood, a few of which have proved prophetic lately,” he half-lied. “Some of them included my father, although he is supposed to be immune to all forms of divination. I am trying to reconcile this paradox.”

“I see,” Meredith replied thoughtfully. “Visionaries infamously have prophetic dreams and visions, but there is no record of someone without a third eye having them.”

“I heard my father mention once that I might have grown a third eye like my half-sister Norbelle were it not for our demon blood, whatever that means.”

Meredith frowned. “I am not well-versed in such matters, but the High Confessor should have the answers you seek. I do know that demons and miasma interfere with divination though. Only the most powerful seers can observe and predict the actions of archfiends when they dare to manifest.”

Simon had learned as much in the Darkwood, where the everpresent cloud of miasma prevented Cassandra’s crystal balls from seeing far within. This didn’t reconcile the fact that he saw his father’s past reigns in his dream despite his Anathemic Secrecy Perk. If Simon’s dreams had been divinations, then Balzam Magnos should have been invisible to him just like he appeared to Cassandra. 

Thus, his dreams had to be something else entirely, like a rare form of chronomancy resulting from interactions between his latent Visionary gifts and Darkblood heritage. He hoped the books he borrowed would help him understand this paradox. 

“Are you feeling nostalgic coming back here, Meredith?” Simon inquired as they left the library with their new grimoires. 

“A bit,” she admitted. “I’ve been visiting the Lighthouse since I was six. I have many friends here.”

“Oh?” Simon raised an eyebrow. “Your family lives in the area?”

“Yes, I was born in a fishing town near the Lighthouse. We sold the priests our wares for years until I caught the eye of the Templars, who offered me a squireship.” She looked up at the elevator as if imagining the Lighthouse’s summit. “I thought I would spend my life here once.”

“Do you regret your choice?” Simon inquired with curiosity. 

“No,” she replied without hesitation. “I have two younger brothers to take care of now that our mother died and my father is going blind in his old age. I hope that my Baron title will allow me to wed into a higher noble family and offer them a better life.”

Simon had labeled Meredith as a mere social climber when he first met her, but he was pleasantly surprised to learn of her deeper motivations. He wondered if she and Leonard would grow closer like they did in a previous reign. 

“Me joining the Templars won’t help you much on that front,” Simon replied, “But I will see that your service is duly rewarded. I can try to pull a few strings with my sister Lauriane to recommend you to interested nobles.”

“Your Highness is too kind.” Meredith smiled at him. “I can help you with your Templar training, if you wish. I had passed the trials and was about to utter my vows when I left.”

Simon immediately seized the opportunity. “I think I have a head-start when it comes to the martial and written exams, but learning prayer spells is very new to me. Do you have any pointers on that front?”

“Yes, of course,” Meredith replied with enthusiasm. “The first step, Your Highness, is learning to know whom you are praying to…”

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Simon spent most of the evening learning about prayers with Meredith and then flipping through the books before bed. He learned quite a great deal from both. 

Apparently, the very nature of the Light was an object of debate among religious scholars. Some postulated that it was the will of the Worldsoul made manifest, and others that it was a greater cosmic force that simply intervened on the physical plane through instruments like the Worldsoul, the same way the Dark’s influence extended far beyond the Abyss. Simon also recalled that Duchar held the view that neither of these forces was any more sentient than gravity was, but obviously mentioning that interpretation in a religious temple would not go well. 

Otherwise, there were apparently seven megaliths across the world which the Church of the Light used as idols to represent their deity and draw prayer spells from. All of them were aligned with different elements, namely fire, water, earth, wind, frost, lightning, and light; and although a handful were located on other continents outside of the Church’s control, the faithful still prayed to them. Learning which megalith to honor was key, since the closer one’s affinity and demands were to the crystal’s elemental alignment, the greater the odds that it would answer the prayer. 

Otherwise, the Chronomicon also included a few chronomancy spells, including the ever important Haste. Unfortunately, all of them required mana to use and were thus beyond Simon’s reach for now. Every passage that so much as mentioned miasma-aligned chronomancy was censored. 

Simon needed to pass the Templar exam as soon as possible. The forbidden archives’ books should hold all the answers he sought. 

True to her earlier warning, Lady Beatrice summoned him at dawn to a training room on floor seven to test his skill at arms. She invited him onto a stony stage surrounded by display racks lined with every melee weapon known to mortals and illuminated by great windows where he clashed steel with her. 

The sword, spear, and mace were the traditional Templar weapons, so Lady Beatrice thoroughly tested him in each of them without using her Class outfit. Although his Warmonger passive provided him with advanced proficiency in all weapons, Simon was careful to occasionally fight his Class’ instincts and make small missteps so as to hide his true abilities. His training sessions with Leonard across the reigns had taught him how to straddle the fine line between being a believably skilled prodigy and a secret Class user. 

“You have been well-trained, Lord Simon,” Lady Beatrice complimented him after a bout that left him sweating. “I am especially impressed by your aptitude for maces. You would be a match for trained Templars when not using their Class.”

“Thank you, your ladyship,” Simon replied. “I sought to train beyond what my instructors at Frightwall expected of me.”

“They did fail to correct some flaws in your fighting style and footwork,” Lady Beatrice chided him, her sword pointing at Simon’s legs. “Too much focus on heavy blows and defense over speed. Steady anchoring is good to keep your balance, but in your case it simply slows you down. You could have tried to overwhelm me with faster attacks had you been bolder.” 

Simon smiled like an embarrassed student while cursing himself. He had grown so used to his pitiful Agility stat and inhuman strength that he focused on a slow and inexorable fighting style. The sooner he obtained buff spells to cover that deficiency, like Haste, the better. He also had another idea inspired by Leonard’s trick of trading Vitality for greater speed, but he would need to craft an item for that. 

“I will introduce an aggressive training regimen to cover your deficiencies in preparation for your martial test,” Lady Beatrice said sternly, her face turning at the rising sun. “It is time for the morning prayers. You will have to partake in three services per day: one at dawn, one at midday, and one at sundown. This will both reinforce your faith in the Light and strengthen your connection to it.”

Simon nodded, having been forewarned by Meredith. “Which megalith must I pray to?”

“You will pray to all seven of them,” Beatrice corrected him. 

“All of them?” Simon frowned. “But I only have strong affinities in four of the seven megalith elements. The others won’t listen to my prayers.”

“It doesn’t matter. Practice makes perfect, and taking the easy way out is a recipe for laziness.” Lady Beatrice knelt in front of the window and raised her weapon to the sun. “Are you familiar with the Elemental Saber spell?” Simon nodded in response. “The prayer I will teach you works similarly, and is the equivalent of a Tier I spell. You will beseech the megaliths to bless your weapon with their element. Pick a sword off the rack and recite my psalms.”

Simon obeyed swiftly, grabbing a longsword and kneeling next to Beatrice. She recited common prayers to the Light, praising it for its gift of the sun and protection against the darkness, then recited the actual spells. 

“Waterstone of the ancients, gentle wave of the Light, I beseech thee to grant unto my blade your Blessing of Water.”

Simon watched on as mana surged around Beatrice’s blade and infused it with magical energy. A swirling whirlpool of water materialized around the blade without its user having to do anything to manifest it. 

“Waterstone of the ancients, gentle wave of the Light, I beseech thee to grant unto my blade your Blessing of Water,” he repeated, offering his blade to the sun. His words, however, went unanswered. So much for divine favor. 

Beatrice ignored him and continued with her psalms. “Froststone of the ancients, serene winter of the Light, I beseech thee to grant unto my blade your Blessing of Frost.”

The water swirling around her blade swiftly turned to ice. Simon repeated her prayer, only to see it go unanswered once again. 

The process continued on, with Beatrice’s blade cycling through the elements while Simon’s steel remained untouched. He had known from the start that success on his first try would be difficult, considering his utter lack of true faith, but it was still disheartening. He received no feedback, no indication of what he was doing wrong, no sign of how to improve. Only silence. 

Simon wondered if he could cheat and mimic the effect with Elemental Saber, but the risk of discovery was too great. He would play along for now and see how this developed. 

Beatrice prayed to each of the megaliths, concluding with the most important one. “Lightstone of the ancients, holiest of graces, I beseech thee to grant unto my blade your Blessing of Light.”

Simon watched as her sword began to glow with sunlight and imitated her. “Lightstone of the ancients, holiest of graces, I beseech thee to grant unto my blade your Blessing of Light.”

His steel flashed bright with holy light. 

Simon was so surprised that he accidentally dropped his sword onto the floor, startling Beatrice. Whereas the Templar’s sword had the brightness of a star, staring at Simon’s blade was like gazing into the sun. Simon even had to cover his eyes a bit. 

What the… Simon hadn’t spent any energy in achieving this effect, and he couldn’t have done it himself either way. His disastrous Light affinity prevented him from channeling an Elemental Saber spell aligned to that element. 

He looked at Beatrice, whose mouth was agape in disbelief. Simon knew this wasn’t how things were supposed to go, because she grabbed his sword and quickly studied it in spite of the overwhelming radiance. 

“I swear I didn’t do anything,” Simon said. 

“This… this cannot…” The Templar’s eyes darted from the blade to Simon and back again. “Are you certain your Light affinity is weak?”

“Yes, His Excellency tested me himself,” Simon replied. What was going on here? Did his Anathemic Secrecy’s false light aura somehow deceive the megalith into granting him his prayer? “Is this normal to succeed on a first try?”

“No, it’s… unusual…” Beatrice squinted at him with rising suspicion and then pressed her palm against her chest. “Repeat this psalm after me: Holy Lightstone of the ancients, please Cleanse your faithful!”

Simon watched her gauntleted hand glow briefly, then imitated her. He could tell this was a trap or test of some kind, but he had little choice other than to go along with it. “Holy Lightstone of the ancients, please Cleanse your faithful!”

His hand glowed with a power that wasn’t his own; an otherworldly warmth that filled his body with a serene sense of belonging, and his mind with a notification. 

Disease, poison, and other toxins have been purged from your body. 

“What was that?” Simon inquired. “Another Tier I prayer?”

“No,” Beatrice replied, a deep scowl darkening her face. “It is a Tier II Prayer.”

Oh.

Oh, that didn’t sound good… 

“Do you have a Cleric or Paladin Vassal Class?” Beatrice asked him with an imperious tone. 

“No, no, I've never held a Crestone in my life,” Simon protested. Which was true, for this reign at least. Beatrice didn’t seem convinced and proceeded to outright search him for any Crestone. “I swear it!”

Beatrice completely ignored him and opened her palm. “Sacred Firestone of the ancients, bestow upon me your Sacred Flame!” Blue, smokeless fire danced within her fingers. “Repeat this prayer.”

Simon clenched his jaw and raised his palm. “Sacred Firestone of the ancients, bestow upon me your Sacred Flame!” 

And…

Nothing happened. 

Not even a whiff of fire materialized in Simon’s hand, and his prayer went unanswered. This puzzled Beatrice, which he took as a good sign. Being too good at something raised suspicions. 

“I don’t understand… You would be able to cast other megalith prayers if you had a priestly-type Passive Perk aligned with the Light. Unless…” Her eyes lit up with something different than suspicion: a glimmer of hope. She turned to the nearest wall and raised her open palm its way. “Repeat after me: May the Lightstone of the ancients smite thee, Starshot!” 

A small ball of solid starlight no bigger than a slingshot projectile erupted from her hand and struck the stone hard enough to leave a crack. Simon imitated her, feeling distant energies gather within his fingers… except his own Starshot was twice the size of Beatrice’s and blasted a small hole into the wall. 

What was going on here? 

“The Light Megalith bestowed upon you a Tier III prayer,” Beatrice muttered in a mix of awe and amazement. “The holy crystal dotes on you.”

“Is that a good sign?” Simon inquired, unsure how to take this news. 

“Of course it is!” Beatrice replied, her doubt now washed away by zeal and enthusiasm. “This is a divine sign!”

“What you must understand, Simon,” a familiar voice said, “Is that the Light Megalith is very special.”

Simon and Beatrice both glanced at the door to watch Mastemo step through the threshold with two guards in tow. 

“It is one of the oldest megaliths, if not the oldest ever bestowed upon us mortals by the Light,” the High Confessor said. Although Simon couldn’t see the man’s face, he could almost taste the delight in his voice. “It was it that showed the prophetess Pharis the truth of the Light and set her on her journey to teach the glory of our god.”

“And it is selective,” Beatrice added with genuine praise. “It does not grant extra mana like it does with you to just any worshiper.” 

“In fact, only three people on this continent constantly receive more than they ask for,” Mastemo said. “Empress Euphemia herself, your esteemed sister, Princess Norbelle, and myself.”

“But why? Why me?” Simon asked, utterly confused by this turn of events. “My Light affinity is abysmal!”

“A good affinity helps with contacting the megaliths, it is true, but it is not a requirement,” Mastemo reminded him. “A light shines all the greater in the darkness. Your time in Frightwall could not extinguish your inner sun, and the Light Megalith recognizes that.”

Was… was that what happened? Did his Anathemic Secrecy-powered false aura of holiness manage to trick the light megalith? Simon briefly wondered if Miasmic Archmage had something to do with it before dismissing the hypothesis. Even if a megalith could somehow cast miasma spells, he sensed none in the magic he accidentally summoned. 

Mastemo was probably at least partially correct. Since the megalith couldn’t pierce through the Overlord Class’ Anathemic Secrecy, it probably picked up on Simon’s latent Visionary gifts and granted his prayers… though that didn’t explain why the other megaliths didn’t answer him.  

Either way, this turn of events appeared to invoke more awe and enthusiasm from the Church of the Light than suspicion. 

“I sincerely apologize for doubting you, Your Highness,” Beatrice said, outright kneeling in front of him. “I should not have questioned the High Confessor’s words. I see now that your presence here was the will of the Light.”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Simon replied with a thin smile. This was all so sudden and unexpected, but for once this turn of events would be to his advantage. “So… what next?”

His question amused the High Confessor. “Why,” he said, “You will pass your trial, of course.”

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