Exalted Champion: Ch 18 (rough draft) (Patreon)

Chapter 18: Where Horror Abides

The main amphitheater auditorium was filled with students of the college, everyone was gathered for the only mandatory class. I chose seats in the back, and guided Rachel and Ashley into the plush overstuffed chairs. Tiffany and Adelia sat on opposite sides of Rachel and Ashely.

The buzz of student soon hushed as the professor for this indoctrination class took the stage behind his podium and under the eagle of the imperial flag.

“Quit down and let use stand for the imperial devotion.” The man who took the stage wasn’t what I expected. Middle-aged, slim, and immaculately pressed in dove-gray robes lined with gold thread, he carried himself like a man convinced the world had already agreed with him. His hair was steel-blond and parted with mathematical precision; his eyes, a calm, unblinking gray that never quite focused on anyone, only through them. When he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes it was just a practiced curvature of lips that said he’d done this a thousand times and never once been challenged.

Every student rose and the room rumbled with the spoken devotion. “Eternally devoted, we stand with the Emperor! Forever, the exalted, noble mages defend! Under Ack, we obey! By Alleystra, we thrive! By Sippsie, we are pleased! And by Roxclou, we are served!” once done we all took our seats.

Ashley leaned close, her whisper brushing my ear. “That’s Professor Cassian Merrow. Civics department. He does the ‘social harmony’ lectures.”

Rachel’s jaw tensed. I already knew what that meant.

The room fell silent as Merrow raised one hand in polite acknowledgment, the other resting lightly on the podium beneath the looming eagle of the imperial flag.

“Students of the Empire,” he began, his voice soft, almost soothing. “It’s good to see so many young faces ready to serve. Today’s reflection concerns interdependence and the bond between the industrious citizen and those who look to us for guidance.”

He paused, letting the words settle like dust. “You’ve all met them: the beast-kin who work our fields, the demi-humans who guard our walls, the servants who keep our homes clean and our lives comfortable. They are part of us, though not quite of us.” A faint, reassuring smile. “And that distinction, dear students, is where harmony is born.”

A murmur rippled through the rows, the kind born of agreement people don’t think about. Merrow went on.

“It is the duty of the strong to labor not only for themselves but for those who cannot shoulder the burden of civilization. The Empire is generous. Our roads reach even the wild valleys where once only beasts roamed. Our granaries feed mouths that would otherwise starve. Our laws protect those who could never have written them.”

He clasped his hands, fingers steepled. “Without our guidance, the beast-kin revert to tribal impulse. Without our structure, the demi-humans lose purpose. Work gives them dignity; obedience gives them peace. It is not cruelty to expect gratitude and that they should seek to be of our more perfect form. It is moral order.”

Ashley’s nails drummed against her knee, slow and measured. Rachel didn’t move at all. Tiffany sat still, nodding not in thought but in show. Adelia though was leaned forward, her focus intent on not missing any part of the lecture.

Merrow paced, every step deliberate. “Some of you may wonder, should they be given more freedom? Greater choice?” He smiled again, gentle, paternal. “Freedom without understanding is chaos. And chaos is suffering. The Empire’s compassion is that we suffer in their stead, as we breed the savage out of them. We think, so they may rest. We build, so they may dwell in safety. This is not domination… It is stewardship.”

He spread his hands toward the students as if inviting applause. “So, when you command your servants, remember: you are not oppressors. You are caretakers. Every order you give is an act of mercy. Every expectation, a lesson in civilization. Every punishment a guide to order.  The beast-kin and demi-humans are threads in our tapestry, but it is we, the true citizens, who weave.”

The hall was silent. The kind of silence that means the poison was working.

Merrow bowed his head slightly. “Let us honor that sacred bond, with diligence, with compassion, with pride in the labor that sustains all lesser peoples.”

Merrow’s hand drifted over the podium controls, and a shimmering projection appeared in the air beside him it was a rotating image of a beast-kin family rendered in pale gold light. A mother with downcast ears. A father with calloused hands. Children kneeling at the feet of a faceless imperial overseer.

“These are the faces of loyalty,” Merrow said. “They do not understand the intricacies of governance or mana theory, but they understand gratitude. They feel safer when we decide for them. It is our gift and our burden to ensure they never have to think too deeply. Simplicity is mercy.”

He turned, gesturing to the image as it shifted: now a line of beast-kin laborers hauling grain carts down a road made by imperial human hands. “They do not dream of conquest, of art, or of philosophy. When left alone, they revert to instinct. But under our guidance, their hands become useful, their hearts content. Work replaces want. Order replaces hunger.”

His voice softened further, almost mournful. “In every generation, there are those who forget this balance. They speak of equality.” A delicate pause. “But equality between the wolf and the shepherd is cruelty to both. Compassion must know its place.”

The projection changed again. A demi-human soldier, kneeling, his spear lowered, his armor marked with the imperial crest. Merrow’s eyes brightened faintly. “They fight for us, yes. They die for us. But it is not their war they fight, it is ours. Their service gives them purpose, their deaths, meaning. Without the Empire’s banner above them, their courage would turn to savagery.”

Rachel’s fingers imperceptibly dug into the armrest. Ashley’s jaw was clenched though her face remained poised.

Merrow folded his hands behind his back, walking slowly across the stage. “So when you pass a servant in the halls, or see a beast-kin tending your home, remember: you are not looking upon an equal, but upon a child of the Empire’s mercy. Their obedience is their prayer. Their service, their worship. And your task, noble students, is to keep that worship pure.”

He stopped under the eagle crest, its shadow cutting across his face. “Do not mistake kindness for weakness. Mercy must be guided, and guidance must sometimes wound. When they falter, correct them. When they fail, discipline them. This is not cruelty, it is the preservation of harmony.”

He smiled again, that same bloodless expression that might have passed for warmth to anyone not really listening. “Because, in truth, they love us for it. They need us for it. We give them the one thing their kind could never build on their own.”

He let the silence hang, every eye on him. Then, softly—

“Purpose.”

The word landed like a blade laid gently against the throat.

Merrow allowed the word to settle, then pressed another control on the podium. The projection dissolved into a constellation of pale symbols, gene-lines, family seals, stylized depictions of tails, ears, wings. A quiet murmur rippled through the amphitheater.

“Now,” he said, tone brightening as though beginning a lesson on arithmetic, “let us speak of stewardship in its most sacred form, continuity.”

The symbols coalesced into two silhouettes: one human, one beast-kin. Thin lines connected them, branching outward into a web of offspring, each generation’s features a little less animal, a little more refined.

“Some among the lesser races,” Merrow continued, “have proven receptive to our tutelage. They labor well, breed faithfully, and through proximity to our civilization, their blood begins to clarify.” He gestured toward the projection as if proud of it. “You see, devotion itself has an alchemical quality. When properly guided, even their inferior blood may be redeemed.”

A few students nodded; others stared in fascination. He went on, oblivious, or pretending to be.

“Imperial census records show a measurable improvement across three generations of supervised unions. The ears shorten, the eyes lose their feral hue, the temperament steadies. This is the empire’s quiet miracle, compassion made hereditary.”

He smiled faintly. “Left to themselves, of course, they regress. Instinct reclaims them. But under our supervision and our guidance they ascend, never to the true heights of human perfection but closer. The Empire refines them through selective breeding and careful placement.”

The projection shifted again: beast-kin infants sleeping in gilded cradles beneath the sigil of the empire, caretakers in white robes standing watch. “From such nurture come the next generation of loyal subjects. We offer them purpose before they can even speak. We teach them to look upward, not inward.”

He paused, almost wistful. “One day, perhaps, their descendants will stand beside us, not as equals, but as perfected servants of our imperial order. Imagine it: the chaos of their nature tamed entirely, their passions turned to duty, their blood made useful.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, the motion graceful, reverent. “That, students, is the true meaning of benevolence. To lift another race from the filth of instinct to the dignity of obedience. It is a sacred trust, written into the divine architecture of empire itself. The holy scripture of Ack the bed rock from which we seek to rase up the animal to a more perfect form.”

A few scattered claps broke the silence, uncertain and polite. Merrow inclined his head modestly, as if accepting praise for a piece of fine research.

“Remember this,” he said, voice dropping to a murmur that carried to every corner of the room. “Every cradle we tend, every bloodline we correct, is a testament to our mercy. We are gardeners of flesh and spirit both. And what is a garden, if not the triumph of design over wilderness?”

Merrow’s expression never wavered, but the projection behind him shifted again — this time, columns of numbers, glowing golden and precise. Trade manifests, population charts, production curves.

Merrow’s fingers glided over the podium, and the projection behind him reshaped once more into scenes of imperial farmland, golden fields rippling under orderly skies, canals glittering with enchantment, grain towers marked with the seal of the Mage College.

“You see,” he began, his tone turning almost indulgent, “many outside these halls forget that compassion is costly. The Empire feeds not only its citizens but millions of beast-kin and demi-humans who would, without our intervention, succumb to famine. They labor, yes, but it is we who make their labor meaningful.”

The image shifted: exalted mages hovering over a field, their hands glowing as wheat rose in shimmering waves. “The true work of civilization is done by those with understanding. A single mage, properly trained, can increase the yield of a province. A team of scholars can stave off drought for a decade. The beast-kin plow, the demi-humans sow, yet it is our mana that makes the soil fertile. They depend upon our charity for every loaf they eat.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a coaxing murmur. “And what do we ask in return? Only gratitude. Only that they continue to serve within the structure that sustains them. When their rations are granted, when the Empire subsidizes their grain, or forgives their taxes after a bad season, it is not pity, it is duty fulfilled. It is the strong tending the weak.”

The projection changed again: distribution stations, orderly lines of beast-kin families receiving bread from robed officials. Merrow’s smile softened. “We call these programs the Emperor’s Hand. Every province sends its tithe of food and coin, and in return the lesser races are nourished, clothed, and kept from despair. This is how mercy must function, organized, measured, intelligent. Without the guidance of exalted mages, their harvests would rot in the field and their children starve. With us, they thrive.”

He spread his arms as if presenting a vision of paradise. “So, when you hear agitators speak of equality or independence, remember this truth: they eat because you will it. They live because the Empire labors in ways their kind cannot fathom. Our magic is not oppression it is providence. Your mana, your intellect, your service, these are the invisible hands that lift the world.”

Merrow’s eyes swept the amphitheater, voice soft and certain. “The Empire’s generosity is the foundation of peace. Let no one call it exploitation. The fields are full, the granaries brimming, and the beast-kin kneel in gratitude. That, students, is harmony… The righteous economy of mercy.”

He bowed his head slightly beneath the golden eagle. “Go forth and serve in wisdom. Remember: to give is divine, but to guide what you give, that is the exalted mages true purpose, under Ack.”

The eagle’s shadow seemed to lengthen over the crowd as he dismissed us, the soft hum of approval spreading like a quiet contagion through the hall.

We filed out in silence, a hush clinging to the students like oil. The poison had taken root and left behind a hollow, satisfied calm. At my side, Rachel and Ashley glided ahead, their faces blank, cold, perfect. The crowd parted, and I caught the way Tiffany’s lips tightened at the corners, her spine straightening as if Merrow’s words had poured molten lead into her bones. Adelia was almost beaming, her eyes fever-bright with approval, as if she’d just been given a secret too precious to speak aloud.

I said nothing. I kept my pace measured, my every step a mask for the many eyes that now watched me. I was sure that it was not only the students who watched their prince, but those eyes of the empire ensuring no miss step on my part.

When we got into the elevator Adelia spoke, “Exalted Prince husband, did you enjoy the lecture?” her question sounded innocent enough, but I had seen how enraptured she had been by Merrow.

We rode in the gilded bronze cage to the royal level of the college tower. “Oh, it was quit good, one must always keep in mind how much the empire provided for those savages. Truly they would be no better than animals without us, unable to even feed themselves.” My words were as much signal for Ashley and Rachel as they were a cover for what I really thought.

I knew Ashley and Rachel would pick up what I meant, that I in no way trusted Adelia. At least with my true opinions on slavery within the empire.

“Yes, filthy animals, though when cleaned and trained they are tolerable. You are quite gentle with your household exalted prince husband…” the comment was once more benign sounding but I knew that if anyone were to overhear that it might send the wrong signal to the imperial spy’s.

“As Merrow stated, it is through compassion that obedience if fostered. I have no desire nor time to deal with unruly slaves; thus, I treat them well, and they obey absolutely as is their place.” the elevator opened and I stepped out headed for the royal apartment, thankfully silencing any further questions.

I need to blow off some steam after that; fuck I should just go get the rest of the adamantium I need. I head to my master bedroom as I spoke, “I’ll be heading into the dungeon, Rachel confirm with Professor Trianna about to night.” My tone was sharper than usual.

“Right away Exalted prince husband,” Rachel said with a curtsy. I hated it when they did that, reverted to the empire’s mannerisms of fear. But I needed space from all of it after these lectures. The cruelty that they so casually and off handedly displayed made me sick. It was not furry or rage, though that would have been nice, to just lay waist to the whole thing but that would bring untold suffering and with the abyss involved it would doom this world in its entirety.

“Have we done something to offend?” Tiffany whispered to Ashley.

“Oh, heavens no, he just enjoys a good dungeon run after lectures on Mundness, they fill our Prince husband with so much vigor.” Ashley said, changing the way Adelia and Tiffany saw my mood from anger to passion.

I headed upstairs to change, letting their voices fade. I had no more room to care.

What I needed now was an enemy to kill and since I needed adamantium, that fucked up thing in Rakthanos’s temple vault would do nicely.