Paying the Fine -3-
Inside the pitch-dark cathedral. Untouched by human hands, the walls were covered in green moss, and water droplets dripped from the ceiling. It felt like a ghost could pop out any second. I guess I'll have to sleep next to the young lady when I get home.
"Hey, Malik."
"Call me Sir Malik."
"Then Malik."
"?"
Malik glared at my shortened tone. My pride wouldn't let me use honorifics for someone like him. I didn't even use them with the young lady—what made him think he deserved it? Half-polite speech suited this arrogant sub-male character just fine.
I ignored his sharp, annoyed stare and voiced the fear making me tremble.
"Why'd you call me out here in the dead of night? It's creepy as hell."
"Gotta avoid prying eyes. If some civilian spots us, it'll ruin my image."
"Still, dragging me to an abandoned cathedral this late? Kinda scary, you know."
"Suck it up. That's why I'm paying you top coin."
Fair enough. Shut your trap, boss, I thought. All my questions answered. Typical of a boss trying to buy his way out. Didn't want to see his face for a long while. Money really is power. Picturing my wallet bulging, I gripped my sword.
"Is Pascal here?"
"Put surveillance on him right after the incident. He's probably been holed up here about three days."
"Hmm... yeah..."
It was just the kind of spot Pascal would love. In the novel, he favored sunless caves and gloomy places. Especially since his main power was black magic. Made perfect sense—black magic drew strength from darkness.
We crossed the cathedral's main doors and entered the nave, brushing aside the webs filling the building and stepping inside slowly.
The moment my foot hit the nave's threshold.
"Watch out."
I yanked the collar of Malik, who was leading, pulling him back hard.
Thud.
"What the hell...!"
Malik glared at me furiously from the floor. Instead of answering, I pointed at the nave door. A black arrow had pierced the wall and embedded itself there.
Gulp.
Malik swallowed hard, speechless. A second later, and he would've gone to heaven before fulfilling his family head dreams.
"Get it together, sponsor."
"...Sorry."
Malik quickly owned up to his mistake. Embarrassed at falling for a newbie trap, and grateful for my save. No excuses—he just rested his hand on his sword hilt, ready to draw. Way better than his earlier lax attitude.
"I'll open the door."
Confirming his resolve, I grabbed the nave doorknob.
-Creaaaaak.
Inside stood a massive goddess statue with arms raised in welcome. Moonlight filtering through the web-choked chandelier and crumbling ceiling made a stunning scene.
"No face on the statue."
But the smooth, expressionless head shattered the awe. A chilling dread began swallowing the nave. Starting with the faceless goddess. Then the empty pews. It felt like someone was lurking. Like a ghost might leap from behind.
Malik strode boldly to the nave's center.
"Guess he bolted."
He muttered softly.
"Doubt it."
I shot back curtly. That art-obsessed freak wouldn't abandon a prime spot like this. Perfect for hiding bodies and crafting eerie vibes. Knowing Pascal's tastes, I was sure he hadn't left. He got off on desecrating the sacred. In the novel, he'd turned priests and nuns into his "art." This place would drive him wild.
I stared straight at the empty pulpit. Where sermons were preached. Now a faceless goddess welcomed with open arms, but normally where divine miracles flowed strongest.
I swung my sword lightly at the statue. The silent blade whistled through, slicing its belly with a clean shrk.
Malik yelled in irritation at my unannounced strike.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Felt like he was there."
"Who?"
"Pascal. And yep, there he is."
-Kikikik...
Oh dear, caught me.
A familiar laugh echoed from behind the severed statue. Malik drew his sword in a flash.
"Who goes there!"
"Who else? Pascal."
Don't get excited. Didn't you hear me earlier?
A black silhouette emerged slowly from behind the goddess. Just like our first meeting, he gripped two daggers in reverse grip—like some familiar insect.
I stepped back, planning to watch for now. Malik got the hint and edged away from Pascal too.
Pascal chuckled softly.
"Welcome to my exhibition."
The mantis bowed politely, like a gentleman courting—like a male mantis wooing a female.
I raised a hand in question.
"Not here for bugs."
Pascal snapped his head up. Hearing his benefactor's voice, maybe. His wide-eyed stare was almost cute.
"Why are you here?"
He rubbed his eyes.
"Huh?"
Rubbed again.
"What?"
Guess he hadn't noticed me in the dark. The moment he saw my face...
-Boom!
A black arrow streaked past my eyes.
Black Magic Resistance cancels Pascal's magic.
"Even if I'm thrilled to see you, that's no way to say thanks."
"You... took that hit? Thought it was a dream."
"Me too. Would've been a nightmare if I missed."
Whew. Pascal sighed deeper than a chain-smoking old man.
"Do you know how much your meddling ruined my perfect art?"
"Improved it, right?"
My snark made his voice rise in fury.
"Improved? You said improved?"
"Yep."
"...You bastard."
Speechless Pascal. Hadn't grasped the truth yet. With pity, I told him.
"Still hiding mirrors? I'm no plastic surgeon, but I could turn you from mantis to something better—like a stag beetle."
"...You mocking me?"
"Ah—don't scowl! Makes you look even more mantis-y and gross."
Boom...!
Another black arrow flew, but bounced off me harmlessly.
"What are you? Magic doesn't work... black magic doesn't work. Monster?!"
Malik eyed me with shared disbelief. Magic immunity? No such freak existed. But my calm rattled him.
"What are you? Vampire? Dragonkin?"
"Nah. Just a butler."
"A butler who pulls this off?"
What makes it possible? Possession, duh. Channeling Histania logic, I enlightened him kindly.
"Talent. Overwhelming talent."
Malik glared jealously, but I shrugged—that was answer enough.
"Show-off."
"Nope."
Rumble...
Darkness settled over the cathedral. Pascal's rage piercing the heavens.
"Don't... underestimate me."
Black energy coated his daggers. Time for his signature mantis style.
I nudged Malik's side.
"He's coming now. Get ready."
"Got it."
"No slacking."
What level was current Pascal? Around aura-awakened Hanna, maybe. Aura was absolute—cut anything, explosive power. An aura user matched him now. Though future Archmadman Pascal outdid me and Hanna, adventurer-hunter era? Malik had a shot. If he handled black magic.
Black magic's terror was unpredictability. Like the young lady's brainwashing. I knew his spells and weaknesses from the novel, but normals got one-shot without a clue.
Regular magic? Fire meant heat and blasts. Ice: cold and shapes. Wind: sharp cuts. Black magic? Corrosion. Curses. Wild variables. Tricky as hell.
But not invincible. Tower Lord or Desmont head crushed black mages with meteors or freezes. Easy kills. Black magic was easier to learn, stronger effects—but costly risks, huge failure penalties. Like our young lady.
Any field: the skilled ruled. Talent made the strong.
Bottom line: Pascal was green. Pre-full heretic? With backup, Malik could win.
I pondered, awaiting Malik's fight. How far could he go? When to step in?
Malik trembled. Scared of Pascal's madness?
"Think you got this?"
"...Of course."
I taunted to loosen his tension—turn passive to fired-up.
"Eh, against that guy?"
Pascal glared murderously, fixated on us.
"Give up. Hanna maybe, but you? No way."
"I can do it."
"Don't wanna pay up dead?"
"Shut it."
Malik glared, resolve hardened.
"Histania keep their word."
"The stuff you showed Hanna says otherwise..."
"I'll keep it from now on."
Malik advanced into the nave.
-Boom!
Black arrows punched through walls. Malik dodged with a casual head tilt.
"Mantis bastard..."
"Why call me mantis?!"
"'Cause you look like one... Sorry. No bullying for birth defects."
Malik shut up.
"I'll make you my next piece."
Pascal's body launched like a mantis.