Chapter Fourteen

  The temples of men always gave both Demiurge and Albedo pause. This occasion was no different, they stopped before the steps, spat into the stone at their feet, then walked up toward the double doors. As ‘husband and wife’ they put on a proper performance, remaining arm in arm until they reached the lonely door on which the names of the inferior gods of men were etched, and scanned the room with their eyes. The crude building was little more than a box of stones with a dome atop that bore various insignias in the shapes of glowstones that were visible primarily at night.

  The interior of the inferior building was not much better, the pillars were carved with modest skill into the shapes of their deities, each of which in turn was painted more or less how they appeared in life. The undead, Surshana, his arms up overhead as if he were holding up the greater part of his pillar instead of part of it, Keskis, the paladin angel, mirrored the position themselves, but instead of open hands he held a divine blade flat in his palms. ‘Ridiculous.’ Demiurge thought and felt the urge rising to spit on the visage of the god, at least the undead one had some resemblance to Lord Ainz and so avoided the brunt of their contempt.

  But this one was saved from their shared disgust only by the presence of a lonely priest, if they could be called that. The robes they wore were those of a mere initiate, if the Draconic Kingdom’s priestly rankings matched what they knew of the priests from other countries. A white robe with a number of blue stripes, each removal was another promotion, up until there was only a pure white robe remaining which would make them a cardinal.

  Even without the obviously low rank, the fresh faced youth of the ‘boy’ made it impossible that he was any higher. Though what he lacked in experience he was clearly striving to make up for in enthusiasm. No sooner had he caught sight of Albedo and Demiurge than the young man practically scurried from the far end of the temple to where they stood, his hands wringing the whole way and his bald face bright and eager. “Welcome to my temple!” His slightly high pitched voice echoed off the walls, “Are you here to venerate the relic?”

  “Yes.” Demiurge said at once, “May we see it?” Even he could not keep the eagerness out of his voice, no matter his consummate skill as a pretender… ’If it really is he… my father, my creator…’ He held his breath and his whole body refused to move, that was, until Albedo gave his arm a little tug, drawing him away from where he was rooted to the spot, frozen by the silent fear that this was truly all for nothing. “It will be fine.” She said with a tiny whisper, so low that the human ahead of them could hear nothing.

  ‘The Guardians are fortunate that she is our overseer…’ He thought with relief at the slight tug, his own thoughts were getting the better of him as he drew toward what might very well be the final proof he sought… one way or the other. And in that impossible moment, all his courage and will would have fled as he dreaded the loss of hope that he might meet his maker again.

  ‘If it isn’t him, at least I had hope before… what will be left for me if it isn’t him…?’ That dreadful thought was like Hamsuke on the wheel Aura used to condition her, were it not for his colleague, she whom out of all the Guardians, Demiurge enjoyed the most, he questioned his ability to take those final steps.

  Her insistent pull was not just the strength of a level one hundred warrior, and her reassuring, even charming smile wasn’t that of someone giving orders, it was the pull of a true comrade, and it let Demiurge take the steps that he doubted he could have taken on his own.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Even so, his steps were hesitant, though she slowed herself to match him, allowing him to set the pace at which their footfalls echoed over the temple where the young human led them. “You’re young aren’t you, to lead this temple?”

  The young man’s voice cracked a little, but even shy as he was, he answered honestly, if without looking back at them. “Yes. But it can’t be helped. I was the only priest in this city to survive. I’m just an initiate still, but I’ll still do my best.”

  “The only one? Was this not a large city, once?” Albedo asked.

  And the priest answered with a more sorrowful voice and a regretful nod, “Yes. The old ones stayed to help with the defense, using their healing magic and other skills to keep the soldiers fighting a little bit longer. They made the rest of us flee.”

  “So you abandoned everyone?” Demiurge asked, and the priest stiffened, losing a step as he walked, but he didn’t deny it.

  “I suppose. Me and the others, we didn’t want to. But they were our elders and we’re sworn to obey. For all the good it did, my comrades and I got caught anyway and ended up imitating our elders at the next village. We got dragged back here regardless, and they were eating us until the day of the Game Changer’s coming… I was on the beastmen’s ‘menu’ for that night. Now? Now this is my temple to keep until someone tells me otherwise.” The boy sounded far more determined, and his fingers twitched as if watching some treasured object being placed far too close to a known thief for comfort.

  “That is why you venerate the Game Changer? Did you see him? Speak to him?” Demiurge hastened to ask, and the priest shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t speak to him.” He admitted, I did see him as he left, though.”

  “Did he look… like this?” Albedo quickly sketched out the body, not from the front, but from the back, filling in the missing pieces of her drawing.

  “Yes. That’s almost perfect.” He answered when she held it back out to him, then clearing his throat after he answered, he pointed to a spot in front of a long stone table. It was a centered position in front of a silver cover with a small knob shape at the top. “Please kneel before I reveal the relic.” He said, then completed his earlier thought, “I did get to speak to the minion of his that set me free, though.”

  “You did?” Albedo and Demiurge asked and slowly sank to their knees.

  “What were they, and what did they say?” Demiurge asked.

  As the shining silver dome was lifted up, the initiate said, “They were imps. And they said, ‘You are free in the name of Master Ulbert Alain Odle.’ Oh, and just because he’s a demon, that doesn’t mean he’s not a god! Who says gods can’t take many forms?! Even Surshana was undead!” He stopped speaking as the two had clearly begun to commune with the relic.

  It was nothing special, just a long silver needle to which a tuft of hairs had been bound. But to Demiurge, they became a gift greater than the world itself.

  Free of its confinement, he knew, without fully comprehending why beyond the color of the hairs themselves, that he was looking at the undeniable proof that his master truly lived… lived… and was in this world.

  Albedo lacked the same sense, but she felt the change in Demiurge as they stared at the little relic. ‘It is now one hundred percent, I’m sure of it… then there is no choice.’ She thought, and read Demiurge like a book.

  Had it been Shalltear and their hint was of Peroroncino, she knew without a doubt the little lamprey would have gone after him at once. But Demiurge, no matter how eager he was, was one of the three geniuses of Nazarick, and the most stable and rational of them all outside of herself.

  “We must inform Lord Ainz at once and prepare to properly receive a supreme being at last.” He said, barely moving his lips, but it was enough for her demonic ears to catch.

  She gave a subtle nod disguised as bowing her head to the relic. ‘Yes. Yes, we must.’