Museum of Grimoire - 4.5 - Early Access (Patreon)

Despite the public’s vested interest in the matter, inquisitorial trials were conducted behind closed doors. Which meant that when presented with the evidence of one of their greatest figures having consorted with spirits in a manner not unlike warlocks, those priests hurling around accusations suddenly found themselves fidgeting in their seats. It was quite the uncomfortable situation for them.

The investigative actions of the accused revealed new insights about the Talker’s personal bible that they used on occasional ceremonies. They had admittedly been aware that there had to be something more to it, with how there were additional pages and notes added in to what was an otherwise standard imperial bible of the time. But even their most studious members had simply interpreted them as notes on the divine, characteristics observed by a very devout saint.

They hadn’t expected it to be very literally notes on the spirits they worshiped, especially regarding how to properly control them.

Florence confirmed it with sure from her own personal expertise, which did lead some to immediate decry blasphemy or lies. When she offered to give communion a try though, said protests suddenly turned into insistence otherwise, a near total reversal that she was probably the assured expert and no, they did not need a demonstration so. Quite the change of heart, stemming from realization that chatting with the gods wasn’t going to help their case.

Maybe some even were horrified at the idea of any other besides one of the true faithful getting to talk with the holy pantheon.

The flock clamored for the resolution, but going along with the prosecution now would be to dishonor Saint Alex for the ordained. That would be an even larger crisis of faith, and the Followers of the Divine seemingly teetered on the brink for a moment. It almost was like that mounting religious schism was about to erupt into a civil war, the only saving grace being that the rooms were quite sound-absorbent as debate raged furiously on.

Then, like a miracle, the saint appeared and proclaimed a solution to their woes.

It would not do for their faith and mission to be shattered by such foolish preconceptions. To admit fault was the burden of mortality; to claim omniscience was the realm of the gods. So to those who had strayed from the path, their admission of ignorance would suffice as proof of willingness to temper their pride. There might even be some further penitence required, but that may be determined and served at a later date. For the time being, it was important that the Followers of the Divine remained a united front even after the death of the demon king.

So it was that the spirits once again spoke through her, proclaiming their wisdom. Amends were made, apologies offered to the disturbed bystanders, and the public sated with a greater message about lifestyle guidance. In fact, the following days after the announcement was marked by a surge in clemency within the old capital. Financial debts incurred during the war against the demons were graciously forgiven, alongside bar tabs being wiped to herald the start of a fresh beginning. Some even called it a chance to be born anew.

Yet a select few understood that this was no rebirth, but a mere re-imagining of what could be truth and falsehood.

“And so, everything wraps up in a neat and orderly matter.” Tillith smiled and sipped from a cup of hot tea, not at all minding the scalding temperature. “Some are even calling it an act of the gods, that this entire upset was but a trial sent by the divine. Rest assured though, all the attention will be on us, the shepherds, and you will be able to continue on your own journey unbothered.”

“That’s reassuring to hear,” Noire told, drinking from her own cup too. She was a little more bothered by the temperature, but only just so. In comparison, Florence had already excused herself from drinking the near-boiling tea and was busy communing with her patron elsewhere. Photios was present, but as always stood at a respectful distance away, still a s a statue. “Hmm. Does your knight always brew things this intensely?”

“You surely know by now that he takes his duties quite seriously, without reserve. A very model paladin of our faith, an exemplar to which more should strive to match.”

“Indeed, that is quite clear to see.” The archaeologist set down the porcelain with a hum. “It wouldn’t happen to be because Photios was once a candidate to become the saint, was it?”

“… I’m surprise that you were able to infer that.” The beastkin sighed and shook her head. She glanced his way and quietly observed the reaction, or lack thereof. “I suppose that’s what I get for thinking lightly of Milan’s warnings. You truly are as perceptive as they say.”

“Truth be told, most of it this time was inferred guesswork based upon his behaviors and influence.” Noire brought a finger up to her lip, thinking how best to lay it out. The matter was made a little more slightly awkward by the presence of said individual, but she pushed on when he seemed disinclined to even act like he was affected. “He commands immense respect, but wields little authority beyond your own. He possess considerable skill, yet stands behind you instead of aside. The final clue laid in his refusal to enter the tomb of the saints. One could perhaps assume that it was out of respect for their wish to remain undisturbed- but he spoke differently.

“It was a tone of conviction, that he was seemingly unworthy to grace the presence of those other chosen. A verdict of guilt upon his shoulders for his failure to be crowned saint.”

The chosen saint exhaled and shook her head slowly. “He takes it too seriously. It was simply a matter of politics, in which my shared past with Princess Iris made me the more ideal candidate for the clergy to choose instead.” She pressed the rim of her cup against her lips and paused, thinking. “Hmm. Perhaps if they had been more daring, they would have elected Photios instead in hopes of drawing the hero’s eye. For what better union would there be if the future queen was married to the saint of our faith?”

“What even is the preference of the hero?” Noire absently asked and received a mysterious smile in turn.

“I’m afraid even for you, that will have to come out years down the line. I shan’t be divulging our girl secrets,” teased Tillith. Then she grew serious, finally setting down her cup as well. “I… had worried about Photios ever since I departed, and even when I returned. I will admit, there was a worry that he perhaps harbored a buried resentment to the matter. One that perhaps will make him inclined to tread ruinous paths.

“But I suppose I shouldn’t have been worried in the first place. His faith is a true bastion that doubt cannot pierce. Even when he recognized subverting me would be an opportunity to usurp this coveted title, the temptation had no sway and he held fast in his rejection.”

“A zealot who takes rejection as a commandment, and centers his being upon it. Even if we all know better that these spirits had little to play into who was chosen.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Tillith hummed a little hymn. “Was it by chance that Iris and I came across one another? Was it fate that we two at the time clicked? It surely could have gone the other way all the same. So perhaps the spirits nudged things into place so.”

The guest raised an eyebrow, but recognized that this was simply a matter of faith. Something she could only look at from afar with an alien mind to it all. Perhaps, when Noire had once been complete, those blessings and curses were no different from ordinary spells to her. But now, they were a foreign theory, crafted with a different ideology to hers.

So she moved along, selecting another topic with airy dismissal. “If you had wished to test your servant’s loyalties, then you could have at least had the courtesy of informing us about Saint Alex beforehand. It would have saved us plenty of time.”

“Oh? Whatever do you mean?”

“You recovered their personal book on the journey with the hero.” Noire rolled her eyes. “And the archmage surely would have recognized the real article came complete with notes for a warlock’s contract. Milan is many things, but they are closest to a peer in magic to me. They do not utilized invocation much, but is still a master of it all the same.”

“Aha.” Tillith’s lips quirked upwards. “Well, perhaps I could have sped along the matter up a fair bit if I revealed the evidence. But I believe, at the same time, that it was your efforts which gave it more standing before the assembly.”

“That is… true.” She had to submit to that argument. “When we presented evidence of the grave itself featuring those suspect iconography, they were less sure in their accusations. Then the book came in and it completely collapsed.”

“You also garnered a measure of goodwill from having participated in clearing the tessos. Even the most ornery of preachers would give you some allowance from that.” The saint’s fingers drew a little circle in the air. “See? The journey matters just as much as the outcome.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that logic when it comes from one of the hero’s own companions.” Noire tapped her finger against the table. “That being said, there is the matter of my payment I wish to discuss.”

“Ah, and I have an inkling of what you wish to request based off what Iris has told me.” Tellith slowly shook her head. “Unfortunately, I cannot simply hand over the book of scriptures used by the saint. It is a precious relic that we have only recently recovered. To give it away would be sacrilegious.”

“Hmm, a pity.” Noire pursed her lips. “Then I suppose I will make do with that replica then. The fake you used for ceremonies will suffice, there is still plenty of history in it.”

“Oh, that can be arranged. And you’ll be glad to know it is an authentic imperial bible no less, dating even older than the saint’s book even, or so I’m told.”

The archaeologist blinked, a question forming on her lips. “That… why is that not more highly valued then?”

Tillith giggled. “It’s all a matter of faith, if you would believe it.”