HP: Sacred Gear Chat Group (2) - Chapter 45 (Patreon)

Chapter 45 - Master's

While Astoria may have been joking, I could tell that the two deaths she'd just witnessed were bothering her. Right now, humor was simply her coping mechanism.

The same went for Tracey and Daphne.

Fortunately, the two Cultists had been wearing those masks, which made dealing with their deaths a little easier. Not having the face of a dying human burned into your mind in their final moments helped a lot.

Still, it made me pause for a moment.

When had I become so numb to death? It couldn't have been that long ago.

I supposed hunting animals and various monsters had gradually gotten me used to killing, even if they weren't humanoid. When I first arrived in this world, my humanoid kill count had still been pretty tame, consisting of the occasional bandit in Mushoku Tensei.

Just a month ago, killing a human still had genuinely bothered me.

Then came the Draugr and other Undead. Although they were already dead, they were still human in shape, which had only made me more accustomed to killing humanoid beings.

It didn't help that bandits were a regular occurrence in Skyrim, even in the ruins.

My mind had fully adapted to the survival mindset of kill or be killed in a medieval fantasy world. At least I'd soon be back at Hogwarts, where I could enjoy some downtime, far away from situations that forced me to spill blood.

To distract myself and the others from our recent kills, my gaze fell on Brelyna. Perhaps my assessment of the Telvanni Dark Elf had been a little too harsh.

Sure, she might be a Telvanni, but that covered a genuinely broad spectrum of people. House Telvanni was full of backstabbers and cunning mages who would do anything to get ahead. However, reaching a meaningful position within the House usually took decades, and many members never made it that far, ending up dead after being stabbed in the back by one of their competitors.

Reaching the top wasn't just proof of one's talent and cunning. The journey itself would inevitably shape one's personality.

Brelyna wasn't there yet. She might have some of the typical Telvanni traits, but she was still a very young member, no older than any of us.

"Thank you for coming to our aid," I said sincerely.

It was a fact that she'd rushed to help us, even though she hadn't been obligated to do so. Perhaps her friendship with Tracey and Daphne was genuine after all.

"It was no trouble. As apprentices of the College, it is our duty to aid our fellow members and, if necessary, protect the people of Winterhold when they find themselves in danger," she declared righteously, laying it on a little thick.

I'd let that slide.

Unexpectedly, it wasn't Tracey or Daphne who spoke up next, but the usually silent Ghislaine.

"Why were you watching them? Did they have something you needed?"

Aaand there went my previous assessment.

She hadn't simply been passing by. No, she'd been there from the very beginning...

She'd definitely only stepped in to earn some favor with us. If she'd genuinely been worried about those Cultists, she could have sought help from the guards or someone else at the College.

There was a deeper scheme at play here.

The only question was whom she'd been targeting. Was there something she wanted from those Cultists, or had she planned to 'help' us from the start?

I stared at her blankly.

Damn, she had a thick skin. She didn't show the slightest hint of discomfort.

"Ah, yes. Those Cultists have become quite a problem on Solstheim. They're actually the reason I left the island and came to the College. Some form of Illusion Magic is affecting them. If you're not careful, you'll become one of them, and there's no way to break the spell. My master's master has been investigating the matter, but even he hasn't been able to undo the spell affecting their minds," Brelyna explained with a straight face, pretending not to notice my dirty look.

"Your master's master?" Daphne asked. "Is your teacher still an apprentice himself? I thought he was at least a Master-level Conjurer."

Master-level Conjuration? Reaching that level usually meant the person wasn't exactly a slouch in the other schools of magic, either.

Could it be?

Noticing my interested gaze, Brelyna provided a little more information.

"My master's name is Talvas Fathryon. He's a skilled mage, but he's still far from reaching the level of his own teacher, Master Neloth. Talvas holds the rank of Wizard, one rank below Master. But the gap between them is rather large. Reaching Master rank in House Telvanni is usually the pinnacle of one's career. There are still the ranks of Magister and Archmagister, of course, but you would normally only become a Magister if you believed yourself more qualified than the current Archmagister. Anyone seeking to become Archmagister also has a specific political goal in mind. Although the Archmagister is technically the head and leader of House Telvanni, they don't have much influence over the other Masters. In fact, if they try to exert too much control, they usually find themselves dead rather quickly."

Not only that, but I knew exactly who Neloth was. He was one of the few characters who appeared in multiple Elder Scrolls games.

Anyone who reached the rank of Master in House Telvanni usually had the means to extend their lifespan. Master Neloth, for example, had lived for several centuries and had even appeared in Morrowind, a game set more than two hundred years before the events of Skyrim.

And even back then, he had already been old enough to consider someone who was two hundred years old a mere child.

The man even dismissed Savos Aren, the current Archmage of Winterhold, and would only consider taking him on as an apprentice if he were offered a sufficiently generous price.

Still, I didn't need to worry too much about offending Neloth if Brelyna ever tried anything against us. The man didn't exactly care about anyone else's life. He was a typical Telvanni. The only thing that mattered to him was whether you could offer him some kind of advantage.

———

Finally, some peace and quiet after such a busy day. It was the perfect opportunity to study the Staff of Magnus a little more, at least until a knock on my door interrupted me.

"Come in," I called.

The door opened, and I immediately straightened.

Arch-Mage Savos Aren stood in the doorway, his hands folded within the sleeves of his robes. His expression was as composed as ever, though there was something in his eyes that I couldn't quite place.

What could he want?

"Arch-Mage," I greeted him, doing my best not to let my tension show. "I wasn't expecting a visit."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"May I enter?"

"Of course."

I stepped aside to let him into my chambers before closing the door behind him. He glanced around the room, taking in the copied books scattered across my desk, the muddy robes I hadn't gotten around to cleaning with a spell yet, and finally, the Staff of Magnus, which I'd just placed on a table.

"So, that's it? The legendary Staff that belonged to Magnus, the God of Magic himself," he remarked quietly, his gaze resting on the Staff with a complicated expression.

Eventually, he managed to tear his eyes away from it.

"It is." I nodded. "Do you still desire it?"

I asked the question despite having long since pieced together what he'd been after in Labyrinthian all those years ago.

To his credit, the Arch-Mage gave a firm, prompt shake of his head.

"No. I learned my lesson during my youth. I was never meant for those kinds of artifacts."

I gestured toward the chairs near the hearth, and he accepted the invitation. For a moment, we sat in silence, with the crackling fire providing the only interruption.

Then Savos looked at me.

"I came here to thank you, Alistair."

I raised an eyebrow.

"For retrieving the Staff of Magnus?"

"For that, certainly. And for not holding my past against me... too much." He paused, his expression growing more solemn. "No. I came to thank you for what you did in Labyrinthian."

I leaned back in my chair.

"Morokei is dead. The spirits are free. I assume that's what you hoped would happen one day?"

"It was what I wanted," he replied quietly. "Although I never expected it to happen in my lifetime. You know, I dabbled in studying the Elder Scrolls when I was younger. I had a friend who discovered a device capable of reading them, and every possible future in which Morokei died and my fallen companions were released took place after my own passing. Yet, here we are."

His gaze drifted toward the window, beyond which the Sea of Ghosts stretched beneath the pale northern sky.

"When I was young, I travelled to Labyrinthian with several companions. We believed ourselves capable of accomplishing things that wiser men would have approached with considerably more caution. We were ambitious, confident in our abilities, and foolish enough to believe that knowledge alone could protect us from the consequences of our actions."

He paused.

"And I used that overconfidence to trick them into following me into that place. When we encountered Morokei, we discovered the truth of our ignorance rather quickly."

I remained silent, allowing him to continue.

"We couldn't defeat him. Not with the magic we possessed, nor with the weapons we carried. We were frightened, desperate, and running out of time. So I made a cowardly decision."

His hands tightened within his sleeves.

"I bound my companions to Labyrinthian, using their sacrifice to imprison Morokei. I told myself it was necessary. That their suffering would prevent something far worse from befalling Skyrim. That, in time, I would find a way to undo what I had done. Yet even decades later, their spirits remained trapped in that place."

He lowered his eyes.

"But I never returned for them."

The words hung heavily between us.

"I returned to Winterhold. I continued my studies, became Arch-Mage, and spent the years that followed building a life for myself. I told myself that the sacrifice had been justified, that I had saved countless lives, and that there had been no other choice."

He gave a humourless laugh.

"It is remarkable how easily a man can persuade himself that his own sins are necessary."

I studied him for a moment. I'd always seen Savos as the dignified leader of the College, a powerful mage who carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to being in charge. It was strange to see him sitting before me, speaking not as an Arch-Mage, but as a man who had spent much of his life burdened by the ghosts of his youth.

“You were young,” I said at last.

His eyes met mine.

“So are you. That may explain my actions, Alistair, but it does not excuse them.”

“No,” I admitted. “It doesn't.”

He nodded, seemingly grateful that I hadn't attempted to offer him an easy absolution.

Savos regarded me for a long moment.

Then he lowered his head.

“You have my thanks,” he whispered. “If it weren't for you, the mistakes of my past would have persisted until I died like the coward I was. Your existence has created new possible timelines.”

For the first time since his arrival, I saw something resembling relief cross his face. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“I cannot undo what happened,” he continued. “I cannot restore the lives they lost or return the years stolen from them. But I can acknowledge what I did instead of continuing to hide behind the necessity of it.”

He rose slowly from his chair.

“For years, I convinced myself that their deaths had meaning because of what they helped me accomplish. You have reminded me that their lives possessed meaning long before I ever took them away.”

I stood as well, uncertain of what to say.

“I only did what I thought was right.”

Well, that and I needed the Staff of Magnus. But I felt like saying that would ruin the atmosphere.

Judging by the amused glint in Savos Aren's eyes, however, I could tell he already knew.

“And that, Alistair, is precisely why I am grateful. Whatever your motivations may have been.”

He extended his hand, and I clasped it firmly.

“Thank you,” he said. “Not merely as Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, but as a man who has spent far too long carrying the memory of those he failed.”

I met his gaze.

“You're welcome, Savos.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he released my hand and turned toward the door. Before opening it, however, he stopped.

“There is something I have often wondered,” he said. “Whether my companions would have understood my decision. Whether they would have forgiven me if they had known how many years I spent regretting it.”

He glanced back at me.

“I suppose I shall never know.”

I considered his words.

“Perhaps not. But at least they're free now. Whatever they thought of your decision, they no longer have to suffer for it.”

Savos remained silent for several seconds.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“No, they do not.”

He opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Before leaving, he inclined his head toward me.

“Rest well, Alistair. You've earned it. I'll leave you to your studies. Magic is a wonderful thing, but you must always remain mindful of its dangers.”

I nodded to the man.

“And you, Arch-Mage.”

I watched him depart, his footsteps gradually fading into the familiar sounds of the College.

For a while, I remained standing beside the door, thinking about what he had told me. This wasn't exactly what I'd expected. I'd anticipated some interest in the Staff of Magnus, perhaps even a few schemes. I certainly hadn't expected the Arch-Mage himself to visit me and speak so openly about the mistakes of his youth.

Yet I understood why he had come.

Some burdens couldn't be set aside simply because the years had passed. Savos had built an entire life around the consequences of a desperate decision, convincing himself that the ends had justified the means because he couldn't see any other way to live with what he'd done.

I couldn't absolve him of his actions. Nor was it my place to pretend that the suffering of his companions had been a necessary price to pay.

But I could understand the fear that had driven him to make that choice.

Would I have done differently in his position?

Well, that depended on who my companions were.

It was a rather unsettling thought, but that was simply my personality.

At least I could take some comfort in knowing that I'd prevented his mistake from making things considerably worse, probably even preventing several deaths at the College.

With the Staff of Magnus already here, the entire situation surrounding the Eye of Magnus would be far more manageable.

I returned to my table and picked up the Staff, examining it with my Magic Power Eye.

There was still plenty of work ahead of me.

[-- End of Chapter --]