Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 415

The atmosphere outside the manor was tense. Xander’s guards watched nervously as the priest patrols passed by, knowing a fight could break out if things went wrong. Though they were all veterans, there was only so much they could handle, and they were very aware that the force mobilized to control the city was beyond their capabilities.

Nick and Devon slipped out through a side entrance, used only for dropping off the garden’s refuse that needed to be collected.

“Let’s go," Nick whispered, pulling the hood of his apprentice robes low over his face and handing Devon the pouch containing the other half of Sonya's 'dust bunnies.' “Take the lower districts and the merchant quarter, but be sure to stay out of sight. If a Hound spots you, don't try to outrun it, just drop a bead in the opposite direction and let its instincts override its orders.”

Devon nodded, already scanning the road. He’d be taking to the rooftops the moment he emerged from the noble district, but for now, he’d need all the skill he could muster to avoid being noticed. "Try not to start a holy war without me.”

"No promises," Nick said with an amused smile, before melting into the gloom. I might actually end up doing that. Hopefully, it won’t come down to it.

The one thing he could be thankful for was that the priests hadn’t yet put many resources into the noble district, as they were focusing more on the Tower for answers, but it wouldn’t be long before they expanded their search radius.

Every dozen blocks, Nick reached into his ring, pulled out a small ball, and flicked it into a storm drain, a pile of refuse, or behind a stack of crates. He aimed for a random pattern, looping back and forth, taking unpredictable turns, and trying to make it impossible to track him along his path.

He didn't have to wait long for the results.

Nick was halfway across the central thoroughfare when the first howl ripped through the ether. It wasn't a sound his ears could catch but a psychic vibration that echoed in his mind, and he knew that a Hound of the Deep had found the first decoy.

A minute later, a second howl echoed from the merchant quarter. Then a third, coming from the docks.

Nick smiled grimly, pressing himself against a brick wall while a squad of priests hurried past the alley entrance, heading blindly toward the nearest false alarm.

From the looks of it, they hadn’t really expected to find much after the initial search failed, and the divination attempt didn’t bring up much.

Sorry guys, your cushy job might actually need you to do some work.

Sonya’s forgeries were working perfectly, as the Hounds couldn’t seem to tell the difference between the real [Mire of Avarice] and the conceptual replica.

To their finely tuned senses, a burst of spiritually charged mana had just suddenly erupted in fifty different locations across Alluria.

Thanks to that, the Inquisition’s coordinated search grid was immediately broken apart, turning into a frantic, chaotic scramble.

With the patrols completely distracted, Nick refocused on his main target.

The air grew noticeably warmer and drier as he neared the Plaza of the First Flame. The Temple of Sashara, which dominated the square, was an expansive red-sandstone structure with gold domes. In daylight, it made an even greater impression than during his last visit, when it was a nightly hunt.

Unlike the Temple of Ulter, which he could sense was currently teeming with panicked acolytes and angry priests, Sashara’s domain was a picture of peaceful calm.

Priests in crimson and gold robes moved through the plaza, tending to a long line of nervous citizens seeking blessings or sanctuary from the sudden martial law, offering drinks and food to those in need.

They’re cashing in on the chaos, Nick observed, noting how quickly the fire cult was amassing followers. They shared the festival stage, but they’re letting Ulter take all the blame for the failure. Not bad, not bad at all.

Moving toward the eastern side of the temple, where a shaded colonnade divided the sacred grounds from the rest of the city, Nick took out three of the grey beads.

For his plan to succeed, he had to place them precisely on the jurisdictional border. Close enough that Ulter's Hounds would track the "taint" right to Sashara's doorstep, forcing a confrontation, but outside the temple's actual wards to avoid triggering their internal alarms.

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He knelt beside a stone planter, pretending to tie his boot, and allowed the first bead to roll from his palm into the dirt.

"Littering, young Lord Crowley? I was under the impression the Floria temple had taught you better manners.”

Nick froze. He hadn't sensed anyone approaching, even though he had been looking closely.

Standing in the shade of a sandstone pillar was Bishop Umlaut. The highest-ranking priest of Sashara in Alluria looked exactly as Nick remembered: a bald, mild-mannered old man with a kind, grandfatherly smile and robes that seemed a bit too large for his fragile frame.

But Nick knew better. Beneath that unassuming exterior was a mind as sharp as a scalpel and a devotion to his goddess that bordered on ruthlessness. Umlaut didn't project an aura like most Prestige classes; instead, heat surrounded him, making the air in the colonnade uncomfortably dry.

"Bishop Umlaut," Nick said, straightening up and giving a polite, superficial nod. "My apologies. I seem to have dropped something.”

Umlaut stepped out of the shadows, but he didn't look at Nick; his eyes were fixed on the stone planter.

"A fascinating trinket," the Bishop mused, his voice smooth and melodious. "It screams of greed loud enough to wake the dead, yet it casts no true shadow in the ether. It is inert. A painting of a fire, rather than the flame itself.”

He looked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The Tidemaster's Hounds are currently tearing the city apart, looking for this exact scent. And here you are, planting it on my doorstep. One might think you are trying to implicate the Goddess of the Flame in this demonic incursion.”

Nick didn't look away or try to hide it. There was no use in pretending to be clueless, since Umlaut was way too clever to fall for that.

"I would never dream of insulting Sashara," Nick said smoothly. "I merely thought that, given the current... overzealous nature of the Tidemaster's Inquisition, it might be beneficial for Alluria’s original faith to remind them whose soil this is.”

Umlaut chuckled, clearly projecting his amusement through the ether clearly enough that Nick knew it had to be done willingly, especially since just a short while ago he’d been completely invisible. He clasped his hands behind his back and started walking slowly down the colonnade, gesturing for Nick to follow.

"The Tidemaster is a passionate man," Umlaut said, his tone perfectly amicable. "When the Blessing of the Tides failed so tragically, it was only natural that he would seek the cause. Demonic taint is a serious accusation, and requires a serious response.”

He’s not accusing me of anything and is actually entertaining me for now. Can I really do this?

"A response that conveniently places his priests at every city gate and his Hounds in every district," Nick observed. "I'm sure it was a complete surprise to you how quickly he mobilized to take control of the city's security.”

Umlaut kept smiling, but Nick noticed a brief, calculating flicker in his eyes.

Gotcha, Nick thought. The old man was surprised. Ulter’s men had acted too quickly, using the disaster to tighten their hold and diminish Sashara’s faith.

He might have even been involved in the initial planning stages. Revenge against Hone definitely was an enticing idea, but I doubt he wanted it to escalate this much, and he must realize that the search now won’t find any real demonic taint.

"It is a heavy burden the Temple of Ulter has taken upon itself," Umlaut said diplomatically. "We of Sashara are focusing on the spiritual healing of the people. Politics is so dreadfully exhausting, and not within our remit.”

"They are," Nick agreed. "But politics have a habit of kicking down your door if you ignore them. What happens when the Tidemaster's Hounds follow these false trails right to your borders?”

Nick stopped walking, forcing the Bishop to turn and face him. Now or never. Show me what you’re made of, old man. I know you have it in you.

“The Tidemaster will demand entry," he continued, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "He will claim jurisdiction over your sacred grounds to cleanse the taint. And if you let him in, you acknowledge his supreme authority over the city's spiritual affairs. You will become a vassal faith in what should have been your stronghold.”

Umlaut looked at Nick for a long, silent moment. The grandfatherly facade slipped just a little, revealing the cold, calculating leader of a major religious faction. Yeah, that’s it. Come on.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, Nicholas Crowley," he said softly. "You strike at the water, and then run to the fire for shelter. The Tower’s fingerprints might not be on this disaster, but its shadow certainly is. There is a reason this is happening.”

"I am just pointing out a structural flaw in the Tidemaster's current strategy," Nick replied, leaning hard into his Charisma. He knew he couldn’t convince the Bishop of his point, but even though he couldn’t read his emotions, he understood enough about humans to know he had to be chafing. "He is overextended and chasing ghosts. This will all end up meaning the actual culprits will go unpunished.”

"We cannot go to war with Ulter," Umlaut said firmly, yet the very fact that he was discussing the possibility meant he had acknowledged the truth behind his words. "The people are already terrified. Open conflict between the faiths would tear Alluria apart, and the Duke would have no choice but to reach out to the Kind to expel us both.”

"I'm not asking for a war," Nick replied, letting just a bit of his own anger slip through. “The real enemy is still operating in the shadows, and if we want to truly bring him to justice, we need to get through this situation. Please delay the Tidemaster.”

Umlaut raised an eyebrow.

"When the Hounds track this scent to your borders," Nick explained, "don't fight them. Agree with Ulter’s priests and declare that you, too, sense the terrible taint. As the devoted servants of the purifying flame, it is your undeniable right to cleanse your own territory.”

A slow smile spread across Umlaut's face. I got you.

“Use this to establish your own authority," he urged. "Begin your investigation and request joint custody of the quarantine. Obstruct them with protocol, procedures, and even theological debates about the nature of the taint, if necessary. You can bog down the Tidemaster in red tape without going to war. That will make the real enemy believe he has a chance.”

Umlaut hummed, his eyes gleaming with sudden, amused malice. "It would be highly inappropriate," he murmured, almost to himself, "for the Temple of Ulter to conduct inquisitions within the sacred borders of the Sacred Flame. It is, after all, a matter of doctrinal purity. We would need to insist on forming a joint council and reviewing their findings. It could take days to reach a consensus on even the simplest action.”

Alright, be careful now. I need to close this without him thinking it’s just a ploy to get away.

“That is right,” Nick smiled. “It will give you influence over the city once again, as the only reasonable force with a right over the investigation. That man will not be able to resist.”

"It is a tragedy," Umlaut sighed, effortlessly slipping back into his mild-mannered persona. "To think that such dark magic could be found so close to our holy temple. I fear I must immediately summon my senior priests to secure our borders and start a thorough, unhurried investigation into this matter. We cannot allow Ulter’s forces to risk themselves in our domain.”

Nick bowed. "Your devotion to the city's safety is inspiring, Bishop."