WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 5
- Location
- Brazil
The thing about being the Conqueror that nobody talks about is what has to happen behind the frontline. What allowed the Macedoines to afford Alexander's campaign were two gold mines. This was the starting capital that permitted Alexander's incursion. Besides that, Alexander pretty much opened the Silk Road from the Western Front. The amount of riches circulating toward the West changed the historical course of the West throughout the centuries.
Cultivation or not, war is an expensive business. Me and my army have taken Drezen, showing that Deskari's death wasn't a fluke and now righteous and opportunistic people from all across Golarion will see this as their chance to make part of something greater. Yet the shadow of the Second Crusade who fell to infighting instigated by the web of intrigue cast by Baphomet is a harrowing reminder this war will not be won until the Worldwound is closed.
Drezen might have once been a fortified city but today it is nothing more than ruins. My battle with the Storm King has condemned it. I could charm the stone into mending itself but my instincts and experience inform me I will need as much of my heart blood as I can spare against Baphomet and Nocticula.
Fortunately, I am spoiled for resources. Normally demons are immortal in the material plane, invading through astral projection and breaking down into ether then reforming in the Abyss after death. But some particularity of the Worldwound makes it so they experience true death even without the use of heroic imposition. This means Drezen is filled with the carcass of mythical demons, a veritable banquet for the carrions. By which I mean me, myself, and I. My Unkindness.
My ravens ate so much that they became too fat to fly, like gothic terrestrial pigeons. Even cultivators are not above binge eating and its particular hangover. Fortunately, the Hunger of the Abyss, Deskari's quintessence allows me to process demonic essence extremely efficiently. This is my best opportunity to stockpile mythical power and heart blood.
While Areelu Vorlesh and her first apprentice, the locust swarm-that-walks Xanthir Vang escaped. They left behind a mostly intact laboratory with enough evidence to reveal the secret of mythical transformation – demon lord juice. Crystals are made of fossilized remains of dead Demon Lords that are purified through alchemy and then administered to a candidate.
The leftover impression and memories contained within were a good enough clue but the shed tear born from the midnight bolt used by Panaka against Deskari show uncontestable evidence, plus with a web of intrigue. Areelu Vorlesh contacted Panaka while in the war for Drezen while disguised as a captive. She gave that bolt to Panaka when Deskari attacked, she probably was the 'tiefling witch' that used feather fall to save his life too.
I can only guess her involvement with him but I know for sure Panaka himself is none the wiser about this. Fortunately, my own ploy worked as intended, the sword Rebellion experienced demonization while Panaka remained human. He can even tap into the demonic power of the sword.
For now, we are mostly in the dark about the Architect of the Worldwound and her plans but at the very least we haven't been swallowed by her design just yet. We already saw her strings behind the smoke and mirrors, now we just have to follow the trail she left behind and pray it isn't a trap.
Soul integration isn't something easily done. No matter how well-mixed two souls become, it is extremely hard, almost impossible, for them to truly become one. I know this with authority, only Rher's ability to touch the soul and Dionysus' chthonic attribute allow me to do what I did with my own soul. Gojo told me the cursed spirit with a similar innate technique tried to follow in my footsteps and mostly succeeded at the very end, forcing Gojo to get serious before it grew beyond his control. Showing this is the exception rather than the rule.
At least this explains the metamorphosis experienced by the inner members of the Raging Heaven Cult who bear my starlight marrow, who manifested mythical powers after returning to their waking world. Not dissimilar to Panaka's own companions, really.
If these nahyndrian crystals made from demon lords can awake mythical power then it makes sense my starlight marrow would manifest similar properties after I consumed a demon lord whole. The soul is the body and the body is the soul – while academically this statement is a gross simplification it isn't untrue. Megumi and Tsumiki experienced resonance with me while I was in the Prison Realm, rapidly augmenting their abilities. It makes sense similar would happen while I fought the Storm King.
More problem for Tsumiki at this point, there is such a thing as being too strong. Gojo can attest to that. But there is nothing I can do, really. Not until I finish things Sarkoris at the very least.
I stockpiled enough heart blood from Drezen demonic front for me to have enough to spare mending the city. I used the Augur swam song to charm the stone and put Drezen's foundations back together after all those earthquakes.
After that, it was time to get my hands dirty with honest labor. If Roman-style cultivation allowed one hundred men to fight as one then what stopped them from working the same way? Drezen was to be the standard for things to come. I had already set up the city's new foundation in perfect geomantic alignment to the new ley line brought about by my silver bright terraforming, now it was just a matter of building a city worth it with thousands of working hands.
In my march I searched for deposits of ore and working stone and set up arboreal constructs not unlike my previous zombie labor force, bringing supplies unceasingly to Drezen. Roman architecture used Greek classical orders as a foundation and starting point yet they did not stop there. Their city itself was to be a monument to their performative excellence, uniting public utility and function with form and beauty, becoming an eternal reminder of greatness. Propaganda was, is, and will forever be the soul of every venture.
Under my singular vision public buildings and architecture projects rose unceasingly. Concrete walls, domes, arches, water highways, and roads were built overnight. All were augmented and perpetually endowed with rhetoric, ensuring not only that they would last but also outperform. The road connecting Drezen to Kenabres could be traveled twice as fast for half the effort, magical engines linked to the plane of water supplied the city with clean water, and a barrier array held by the public displayed statues weakened and warded off all demons; Rome might not have been built on one day, but that is because they were all frumpy hussies. A good chance for me to show off all the knowledge I had compiled in the Spirit Library of my Own friend together with modern and futuristic technology in a minimalistic way.
With so many sets of raven eyes at my disposal it was easy to identify people's talents and put them to good use, passing my skill along while also working to create a war machine capable of contending with the Worldwound. Creating swarm simulacrums from the excess of biomass allowed me to induct these promising souls into the secrets of all fields of my trade. Forging churning armament capable to cup demon hide and ward their talons through a mix of magic and numerian science realized by rhetoric, to arable land producing essential crops.
And to those exceptional souls that proved themselves in the battle for Drezen, I granted them the opportunity to be inducted as commanders, a communion through starlight marrow. This grants them the mythical power needed to stand against the demonic hosts of the Abyss. To be a part of my unkindness and be marked by the muse of my heart, forevermore bearing the burgeoning weight of her affection and expectation.
The soul is the body and the body is the soul. Argyrchiara once used of my starlight marrow to manifest beside Megumi when he was fighting off Sukuna. In a sense she has always existed as an expression of my heroic mystery, a manifestation of my glory. And after defeating Deskari I manifested certain aspects of my mystery faith through a heroic feat of passion. Solus once said he was both a raven and an unkindness yet he didn't know what he was talking about. In a sense this was no different than my mastery over the mysteries of Orpheus – it is something that can be passed along to inspire virtue.
The Cimmerian-, kellid people have unique religious practices. They are one of the oldest ethnicities found in Golarion that have kept their ancestral rites intact yet they have been continuously displaced from their ancestral lands by circumstances. Being seen as barbarian invaders in lands their ancestors owned as the original people of all of Avistan. Only the land of the Mammon Lords has stayed intact, and while Numeria was culturally disfigured by the Rain of Stars they still got off lightly. The Worldwound, once known as Sarkoris, is an example of the worst outcomes. Only in Druma they had reconquered autonomy after orc invasions and millennia of dwarf colonization, being so different culturally to be almost stranded.
It is no wonder then that they joined the 5th Crusade in force due to my victory over Deskari. Their idiosyncratic view of the world affected their approach to the cultivation of virtue. Kellids are animists, while the majority of the Inner Sea region is steadfastly henotheistic, where every nation has a single sponsor deity while acknowledging other divinities, the kellids see little distinction between god, demigod, non-divine extraplanar entity, and even the souls and spirits of plants, peoples, animals and even the land itself. Their druids were tasked to impart the ways of the world in an odd yet accurate and comprehensive to the planar arrangement, perceiving the divine essence within all facets of existence, extending their worship far beyond the domain of conventional divinities. Uncandidly described by outsiders as the Cult of 'One Hundred Hungry Gods'.
This unique perspective meshed especially well with the Roman style of cultivation where public virtues are elevated above personal ones. The century-long diaspora seems to be coming to an end as nomadic tribes flock to the Worldwound. The druids are so happy with the restoration of their lands that they happily fall in line and work to bridge cultural differences for the sake of victory. The path of the wise senator, the steadfast soldier, and the cunning captain were things they easily absorbed and reframed to their own context. They even helped me figure out how Julius Caesar could induct foreign cultivators into his armies, turning them into Roman souls without setbacks to their cultivation.
Let's just hope that it is enough for the battles to come.
The fact Nanami got to keep his suit even inside my Dream speaks of how uptight he still is, so it is hard for me to hold a grudge when he simply nodded at me curly. "I am sorry for my absent behavior, there were some matters that required my attention and care." He justifies himself without looking at the human-shaped matter in question.
After our confrontation with Tengen, Yuji started a one-man crusade to right all wrongs across the world and Nanami appointed himself as his keeper. As the only consistent link to one of the three only heroes in the world, Japan made a point to keep on paying him but he turned it down seen as he was pursuing a personal matter.
He has grown somewhat since last I saw him, something that surprised me. Nanami simply lacked the hunger that led one to ascend like Gojo, but he was the kind of steadfast guy who ended up ascending by hissing to the circumstances. There is hope for him yet.
Differently from who probably would have already ascended if it was not for the chip over his shoulders. Todo bore a severe look, he was clearly looking for trouble yet had the patience to prioritize and wait.
Yuji pinned me down with a most intense stare, I guess something finally clicked after he helped me set up the Parthenon of my soul as a spiritual hub. Or rather, he could no longer bring himself to deny it.
"Zagreus-sensei, why did you keep from me the truth?" He inquired indignant, yet there was an imperious hauntness that made it sound like a treat.
"What truth?" I feinted oblivion causing Yuji's affronted demeanor to wither away to reveal weariness.
"… that I am Sukuna." The words left his mouth like defeat.
I signed in exasperation, "Worthless, presumptions, and arrogant boy! You avoided me and every single one of your friends for years to gallivant across the world in a quest for redemption just to knock on my door with a demon in your heart to demand the answer to a question you already know. You always have! Deep down to your core."
Yuji wasn't staring me down anymore but clutching his heart as if in physical pain, my heavy words easily cutting to the heart of the matter. I stopped shouting though, Khorramzadeh quintessence made it so no soul was deaf enough to not hear or misinterpret my words. To be honest, Nanami and Todo did a superb job bringing him to me before Yuji's situation deteriorated.
"It doesn't matter- I tried to reason.
"Of course it fucking does!" Yuji shouted me down in a fit of anger with the hand on his chest almost trying to rip his heart out. "All of it, everything he did with my body was not only my fault, but on some level, I was part of the will that committed these crimes. All of them… someone like that-
"Should just die already?" I said, hitting the nail in the head as his body froze like a block of iron. I signed in exasperation, this incorrigible child.
"I mean what I said, Yuji," I say as I walk up to him and embrace him just as I always did during his moments of vulnerability during the one-year seclusion in the hyperbolic time chamber. It is a testament to his piety to his virtue that he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me, surpassing even Gojo. Yet the boy was still the same mess from back then, and it doesn't help that Japanese people are raised bereft of physical contact and basic affection; even Nanami almost gave up being a sorcerer after a close brush with death, and that is why he fostered his on me. A foreigner unconcerned with social niceties, the Japanese people even started calling me Shuten Doji (little drunkard) as a term of endearment after Tsumiki blackmail folder got leaked and my youthful form was shown to the public.
Leave it to a riotous son of raging heaven to wail his heart out in public without any shame. Half of that nation's strife could be alleviated through the simple and primal act of catharsis.
"In order to amend for his sin which no mortal had the means to punish him for, the Champion subjected himself to ten impossible labors to be decided by his worst enemies in exchange for atonement." I started because as a Pratyekabuddhayāna (Solitary Buddha), Yuji was in the same circumstance. This is a story he was familiar with, an analogy I had used before whenever his mod sunk down the abyss. "Cursed with madness and back-breaking labors yet he struggled not only for himself but also on behalf of those that suffered before him, and those that will suffer after."
"…"
"… and yet."
"He was actually cut down, right?" Yuji found his voice and answered me. "What was handed down from Heaven when the final labor was complete was an eleventh task, the one that killed him."
"Yes, ten steps to the peak. That had been the deal, the bargain struck with the Heavens. But instead of providence, he was given an eleventh as a reward. How cruel is that? It was not the Champion's side of the bargain that was unfulfilled, yet his virtuous heart was condemned as lacking, that a son of raging heaven must stand alone and unrewarded to be judged worthy." I seized Yuji's head and brought it inches from my face. "Is that really the reward you want to find at the end of your story, Yuji?"
He could not answer me but neither could he pull back either.
"No atonement, no forgiveness or reconciliation to one's misdeeds. Is this kind of life even worth living, having your face eternally dragged through the mud, unacknowledged within as well as without no matter how much you tried? That part of your story is nothing special or unusual. Every [decrepit soul] is appointed the same destiny by the Heavens, a life stepped in cruelty and hatred of one's fellow man. Yet you are a cultivator, aren't you? Why do you do the things you do? Why do you walk this path so strayed from its intender course and defy Heaven?"
"… you know."
"But I want you to say it aloud."
"…"
"…"
"My grandfather. He-, he asked me to use my strength to help people so that I don't die alone like he did."
"And since when did you start to curse him?"
At my provocation Yuji's pneuma exploded like a Vulcan, and there was a reason he kept the title of King of Curses. Only the most virtuous of souls could hope to keep their composure when confronted by such power and refined malice. I am pretty sure even most heroes would be intimidated by him. Too bad I had spat the face of god even as Rher unraveled my mind. I was so beyond caring that I don't even remember how to back down anymore.
"Do my words hurt you, boy? Then answer me this, why are you trying to cut everyone from your life then?!" I shouted as I grabbed him by the shirt, tearing it enough to reveal the necklace I gave him. The underworld pass that guaranteed his grandfather's wish would come true. "I know Buddha preached unfettered detachment but until the day you ascend, you are still just another man! Why are you cutting us off while keeping Sukuna in your heart, stupid? Focus on cutting through the swathing treats smothering your fellow man, severing resentment, and dismantling this odious karma you had been saddled with instead."
"… how you always know the right thing to say, Zagreus-sensei?" Yuji asked while slowly releasing his uncoiled tension, showing traces of the peppy young man I knew him to be.
"I can read minds and hear hearts, I would be a really worthless wretch if I didn't learn the way around humans by then. And you are far better off than me. I was not even a cultivator at your age. I expected him to crop up eventually as well, giving me time to think about what to say to you. Just go home, Yuji. Megumi and Tsumiki are more qualified to help you than me."
"Home, eh?" Yuji tasted these words in his mouth. "I guess I owe Fushiguro a visit. Oh, by the way. Todo wanted to talk with you about something!" He says excitedly. His troubles were not resolved but he isn't the kind to roll over and die.
"Of course he does." I say while looking at the approaching Todo who was taking his shirt off, which was rude since this was my Dream. Not that I am surprised. We both knew what this was about.
I looked him in the eyes and said, "I stand for what I said then. Heavenly Restriction was a novelty with serious side effects. I can't in good coincidence endorse it."
Todo just nodded, then punched me in the face.
"Wait, so you knew?!" Panaka accused me, whether it came more accusatory than he intended due to the surprise or overstress caused by the mountain of paperwork fostered into him as the Knight Commander of the 5th Crusade, I could not say.
"Indeed, a fascinating phenomenon. While exploring some ruins advertised by a ghost to promise limitless knowledge for the one to unravel it, I suddenly found myself in this unusual form. It took a while but I eventually hypothesized this is my true form that I had somehow forgotten about. Truly, a subject worth further analysis. That is why I want to recruit you to explore it." Nenio explained in an enthusiastic yet almost scientific approach and detachment. The fact she is oblivious to the exasperated faces of their friends at her blunt remarks is quite endearing too.
"Sure, sure. I would be glad to run off with you all dungeon crawling while in the middle of a campaign." I say honestly, yet due to the absurdity some among Panaka's companions took it as a jest but the man himself knew better by then.
Daeran, an irredeemable instigator and still somewhat incensed by our early confrontation could no bear to pass up the chance to test me, as any other form of divine authority crossing his way. "Really, such a dignified and exalted presence would be better to not engage in such low-class jest. What face would your poor flock have then." Dearan said in diplomatic vernix of barely concealed sarcasm laced with poison, the bare minimum to get always while testing a god.
The way Lann flinched back at his words while wanting to kill him only served to show the truth of it. The former mongrel was a fanatic convert, not a surprise really. The disheveled work made by the demon that cursed his bloodline was an amateur's crude hand compared to the creative genius of Patch-face curse and the majestic horror of the Moon God. I could heal it as a philosopher in enough time through soul physiotherapy. As a hero it was so effortless, I feel like I am exploiting them for the undying loyalty I received in turn.
Also, the bleached gnome hellknight commander didn't take our bickering well either.
I just snored.
"War is a cold game. While glorious battle worth of epics are unavoidable decisive points in a war against a foreign force like the Abyss, the outcome of the war will be decided by the thousand virtuous steps taken before blades are even to cross." I said with authority, that my tireless focus to make an unstoppable war machine was no secret. Mendev nobility and Iomedae's church regarded this rising power with trepidation even as they tried to outshine me. But that was the least of my worries.
"Which brings me back to you," I access while pinning the hellknight with my meanest stare, and to his credit, he withstood it as well as a mortal could manage. "What does the paralictor of the Order of the Godclaw want from me exactly to have the temerity to demand my presence? Your little club hardly needs permission to play demon slayers in the Worldwound."
My words were derisive and caustic but not untrue. Only by my grace has the Worldwound ever mended, maybe other gods could do so but the infamous Contract of Divinity all true divinities adhered to kept the material world from becoming a battlefield. The extensive and torrid history Golarion has with demi-gods only proves that.
Regill took my insult for the permission to speak it was and forged on, determined to get my patronage. "Oh, but I assure you that the Order of the Claw and other hellknight institutions can be far more than that. You certainly have not only the might but also the vision to push the Worldwound once and for all! Hells, even the Abyss itself might be dealt with once and for all and you will find no better men to carry this task than the Hellknights."
Regill was an interesting fellow. Gnomes were a race originally native to the First World and as such are notoriously whimsical, capricious, and rambunctious, always searching for novelty and excitement as an animal search for food and water. Literally. Gnomes risk dying otherwise. A lack of exposure to new and exciting experiences bleaches them of all color, followed by depression and apathy, followed by madness and death. Yet some dreadful ones survive.
Most amazing of all. Apparently, some can even be cured by a strong enough chock.
Regill's bleaching had been reversed by a good one hundred years. It was too much a core part of his identity to reverse it without risking shattering his Ego. The dourness of his identity as a hellknight was too much a part of himself for him to let go. But even so, there was an electric tension just under his skin no longer armored by a mantle of detached apathy.
The field leader of the Hellknights in the Worldwound saw the silver path to victory and he leaped without even looking.
Not everybody was okay with that though. Sosiel, the human cleric had a distasteful frown and accusing eyes that looked at Regill like he was walking garbage. But it was Seelah, the paladin of Iomedae, who exploded with righteous indignation and revulsion.
"Hell no, we don't need the likes of these black armored statues! I heard the paladin Order of the Sunlight Sword was forcefully joined with the Godclaw after a devastating gargoyle attack. He gave the paladins two flasks of water and a sack to use as bandages and even ordered his own wounded to be finished off to deny the chance to capture them! I don't want to fight side by side with someone who will slit my throat if I am weak and wounded. You can't defeat one evil by inviting an equal but more organized evil into your ranks!" The paladin of Iomedae vociferated, steel in her voice.
I interjected. "You heard? I expected better from you Seelah, you should know better by now after your recent experiences. You misplaced your faith in a lot of people, and harbor doubts about your rapid progress. No one will ever truly know a thing until they've seen it for themselves.
"I saw the paralict casual disregard for the souls under his care with my own eyes. Blindness is a common affliction among men of his stature. A commander spends enough time playing toy soldier in the sand, eventually, he forgets that his men aren't really made of stone." I accused, and Regill almost made a fatal misstep in answer until Panaka interjected, verbalizing words that were not truly his own.
"The Abyss is like a teeming mass of unrestrained aggression. An individual demon might be pathetic and weak and their society is chaotic and disorganized yet there is an almost hypnotic pull to their legion as if they were less former mortals and more a primordial force unrelenting on its march."
"The kidnapping attempts of the demons might have been part of a greater plan or might be just demons indulging in vice and sadistic pleasure. Our enemies are not mortal armies of barbarians and treating them as such just show ignorance." I turned once more to Regill and pinned him with a merciless judging stare, magnified by my mythical might. "Tell me paralictor, of what use are your hellknights when I can charm the very earth to rise as soldiers of stone?"
The tension in the room was electric, I wasn't outright rejecting Regill but I made clear he wasn't impressing me either so far. Yet he did not rise to his post by chance, he was made of sterner stuff.
"Because we are hellknights." The half-bleached gnome says with conviction that belies his diminutive stature, carrying unflinching conviction in the ideals of his order. "You who could instill order and discipline in the barbarian kellids will find each of our men to be worth ten of these unwashed raddles put together." Regill says, unbothered and unflappable at the death stores thrown his way. His words certainly didn't help him ingratiate himself with my forces but at least he seems to understand the basics of performative excellence.
I whistled in answer to show my approval, and despite himself, he felt elated even if he didn't display it outward.
Seelah once more interjected. "Are going through with it, Zagreus? I beg you to reconsider, please! Giving this kind of power to hellknights will only do harm to the free people of Golarion." She begged of me.
I just signed in exasperation. "Seelah, you say that because you walk the path of the champion – you stand alone. But even so, you know cultivation only makes someone more than what they are yet it allows them to walk the path toward who they want to become. Whether they are worth of it or not can only be assessed in the end of their stories. Isn't that right?" I say while directing my gaze toward Panaka's latest addition, the redeeming succubus meekly hiding in the shadows. Arueshalae, the poisonous butterfly of Desna.
Seelah signed in defeat, she was so overjoyed by Arueshalae's tale of redemption she had gladly accepted her addition to our ranks during Drezen invasion. "You are worse than Ember! Sometimes as dreadful as Zon-Kuthon yet as magnanimous and compassionate as Sarenrae.
I just laughed at her needling; she was right after all. "Although the illustration of cultivation as a climb, the experience of it is closer to unstoppable descent. And whether someone reaches the bottom in one piece or otherwise is up to their own foundation."
I turned once more to Regill, "The path of the captain is a rash one. One hundred men fighting as one are better than a single man with the strength of a thousand put together, yet to do so your souls will have to be conjoined in purpose with you as its towering pillar. Know that you will have to forsake this dispassionate detachment you prize so much, there is no future for an army where the captain is elevated by his soldiers while they languish with their own weight. You will be expected to carry the weight of your men for them to carry you to victory. Knowing that, do you still want to condemn yourself to my patronage?"
The paralictor of the Order of the Godclaw accented in confirmation. "Nothing would make me happier. These kinds of tortuous battles are what hellknights are made for. I was correct in presuming there was a method to your madness, despite your questionable company." Regill says while pinning Arueshalae with a death stare.
I manifested my pneuma and inducted Regill and his present subordinates in my army. What is the worst that could happen anyway?
So after a lot of delays, I finally get to post this. The hazard of living in a tropical region, seasonal diseases are hard to content to. Fortunately, my health has improved and I got to move the plot forward.
Yeah, Zagreus became the divine founder of New Rome. Considering how much mass combat is involved in this campaign, the Roman-style cultivation is given a chance to shine. The kellid religion style also helped a lot to adapt this model, with some concessions. Roman progression is supposed to have eight realms instead of the Greek four, and they correspond to people's place in the city of Rome. Out of those we only know the last two, Dictator and Dictator Perpetuo. We know Sol was a legate, a commander who leads thousands of soldiers directly, so the centurion realm who leads one hundred is at least one level below.
Besides this, we don't know what powers each realm grants but based on how it operates it seems the Greek style is unusually puissant and diverse in powers in each realm compared to other styles of cultivation.
Cultivation or not, war is an expensive business. Me and my army have taken Drezen, showing that Deskari's death wasn't a fluke and now righteous and opportunistic people from all across Golarion will see this as their chance to make part of something greater. Yet the shadow of the Second Crusade who fell to infighting instigated by the web of intrigue cast by Baphomet is a harrowing reminder this war will not be won until the Worldwound is closed.
Drezen might have once been a fortified city but today it is nothing more than ruins. My battle with the Storm King has condemned it. I could charm the stone into mending itself but my instincts and experience inform me I will need as much of my heart blood as I can spare against Baphomet and Nocticula.
Fortunately, I am spoiled for resources. Normally demons are immortal in the material plane, invading through astral projection and breaking down into ether then reforming in the Abyss after death. But some particularity of the Worldwound makes it so they experience true death even without the use of heroic imposition. This means Drezen is filled with the carcass of mythical demons, a veritable banquet for the carrions. By which I mean me, myself, and I. My Unkindness.
My ravens ate so much that they became too fat to fly, like gothic terrestrial pigeons. Even cultivators are not above binge eating and its particular hangover. Fortunately, the Hunger of the Abyss, Deskari's quintessence allows me to process demonic essence extremely efficiently. This is my best opportunity to stockpile mythical power and heart blood.
While Areelu Vorlesh and her first apprentice, the locust swarm-that-walks Xanthir Vang escaped. They left behind a mostly intact laboratory with enough evidence to reveal the secret of mythical transformation – demon lord juice. Crystals are made of fossilized remains of dead Demon Lords that are purified through alchemy and then administered to a candidate.
The leftover impression and memories contained within were a good enough clue but the shed tear born from the midnight bolt used by Panaka against Deskari show uncontestable evidence, plus with a web of intrigue. Areelu Vorlesh contacted Panaka while in the war for Drezen while disguised as a captive. She gave that bolt to Panaka when Deskari attacked, she probably was the 'tiefling witch' that used feather fall to save his life too.
I can only guess her involvement with him but I know for sure Panaka himself is none the wiser about this. Fortunately, my own ploy worked as intended, the sword Rebellion experienced demonization while Panaka remained human. He can even tap into the demonic power of the sword.
For now, we are mostly in the dark about the Architect of the Worldwound and her plans but at the very least we haven't been swallowed by her design just yet. We already saw her strings behind the smoke and mirrors, now we just have to follow the trail she left behind and pray it isn't a trap.
Soul integration isn't something easily done. No matter how well-mixed two souls become, it is extremely hard, almost impossible, for them to truly become one. I know this with authority, only Rher's ability to touch the soul and Dionysus' chthonic attribute allow me to do what I did with my own soul. Gojo told me the cursed spirit with a similar innate technique tried to follow in my footsteps and mostly succeeded at the very end, forcing Gojo to get serious before it grew beyond his control. Showing this is the exception rather than the rule.
At least this explains the metamorphosis experienced by the inner members of the Raging Heaven Cult who bear my starlight marrow, who manifested mythical powers after returning to their waking world. Not dissimilar to Panaka's own companions, really.
If these nahyndrian crystals made from demon lords can awake mythical power then it makes sense my starlight marrow would manifest similar properties after I consumed a demon lord whole. The soul is the body and the body is the soul – while academically this statement is a gross simplification it isn't untrue. Megumi and Tsumiki experienced resonance with me while I was in the Prison Realm, rapidly augmenting their abilities. It makes sense similar would happen while I fought the Storm King.
More problem for Tsumiki at this point, there is such a thing as being too strong. Gojo can attest to that. But there is nothing I can do, really. Not until I finish things Sarkoris at the very least.
I stockpiled enough heart blood from Drezen demonic front for me to have enough to spare mending the city. I used the Augur swam song to charm the stone and put Drezen's foundations back together after all those earthquakes.
After that, it was time to get my hands dirty with honest labor. If Roman-style cultivation allowed one hundred men to fight as one then what stopped them from working the same way? Drezen was to be the standard for things to come. I had already set up the city's new foundation in perfect geomantic alignment to the new ley line brought about by my silver bright terraforming, now it was just a matter of building a city worth it with thousands of working hands.
In my march I searched for deposits of ore and working stone and set up arboreal constructs not unlike my previous zombie labor force, bringing supplies unceasingly to Drezen. Roman architecture used Greek classical orders as a foundation and starting point yet they did not stop there. Their city itself was to be a monument to their performative excellence, uniting public utility and function with form and beauty, becoming an eternal reminder of greatness. Propaganda was, is, and will forever be the soul of every venture.
Under my singular vision public buildings and architecture projects rose unceasingly. Concrete walls, domes, arches, water highways, and roads were built overnight. All were augmented and perpetually endowed with rhetoric, ensuring not only that they would last but also outperform. The road connecting Drezen to Kenabres could be traveled twice as fast for half the effort, magical engines linked to the plane of water supplied the city with clean water, and a barrier array held by the public displayed statues weakened and warded off all demons; Rome might not have been built on one day, but that is because they were all frumpy hussies. A good chance for me to show off all the knowledge I had compiled in the Spirit Library of my Own friend together with modern and futuristic technology in a minimalistic way.
With so many sets of raven eyes at my disposal it was easy to identify people's talents and put them to good use, passing my skill along while also working to create a war machine capable of contending with the Worldwound. Creating swarm simulacrums from the excess of biomass allowed me to induct these promising souls into the secrets of all fields of my trade. Forging churning armament capable to cup demon hide and ward their talons through a mix of magic and numerian science realized by rhetoric, to arable land producing essential crops.
And to those exceptional souls that proved themselves in the battle for Drezen, I granted them the opportunity to be inducted as commanders, a communion through starlight marrow. This grants them the mythical power needed to stand against the demonic hosts of the Abyss. To be a part of my unkindness and be marked by the muse of my heart, forevermore bearing the burgeoning weight of her affection and expectation.
The soul is the body and the body is the soul. Argyrchiara once used of my starlight marrow to manifest beside Megumi when he was fighting off Sukuna. In a sense she has always existed as an expression of my heroic mystery, a manifestation of my glory. And after defeating Deskari I manifested certain aspects of my mystery faith through a heroic feat of passion. Solus once said he was both a raven and an unkindness yet he didn't know what he was talking about. In a sense this was no different than my mastery over the mysteries of Orpheus – it is something that can be passed along to inspire virtue.
The Cimmerian-, kellid people have unique religious practices. They are one of the oldest ethnicities found in Golarion that have kept their ancestral rites intact yet they have been continuously displaced from their ancestral lands by circumstances. Being seen as barbarian invaders in lands their ancestors owned as the original people of all of Avistan. Only the land of the Mammon Lords has stayed intact, and while Numeria was culturally disfigured by the Rain of Stars they still got off lightly. The Worldwound, once known as Sarkoris, is an example of the worst outcomes. Only in Druma they had reconquered autonomy after orc invasions and millennia of dwarf colonization, being so different culturally to be almost stranded.
It is no wonder then that they joined the 5th Crusade in force due to my victory over Deskari. Their idiosyncratic view of the world affected their approach to the cultivation of virtue. Kellids are animists, while the majority of the Inner Sea region is steadfastly henotheistic, where every nation has a single sponsor deity while acknowledging other divinities, the kellids see little distinction between god, demigod, non-divine extraplanar entity, and even the souls and spirits of plants, peoples, animals and even the land itself. Their druids were tasked to impart the ways of the world in an odd yet accurate and comprehensive to the planar arrangement, perceiving the divine essence within all facets of existence, extending their worship far beyond the domain of conventional divinities. Uncandidly described by outsiders as the Cult of 'One Hundred Hungry Gods'.
This unique perspective meshed especially well with the Roman style of cultivation where public virtues are elevated above personal ones. The century-long diaspora seems to be coming to an end as nomadic tribes flock to the Worldwound. The druids are so happy with the restoration of their lands that they happily fall in line and work to bridge cultural differences for the sake of victory. The path of the wise senator, the steadfast soldier, and the cunning captain were things they easily absorbed and reframed to their own context. They even helped me figure out how Julius Caesar could induct foreign cultivators into his armies, turning them into Roman souls without setbacks to their cultivation.
Let's just hope that it is enough for the battles to come.
-//-
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged!" I say while looking Yuji up and down. Like Megumi, he has shed the last traits of his youthful features and become a man. The cosmetic of cultivation also helped, and he looked just like Sukuna did wherever he took over; talk about a bag of issues. "My prodigal son finally came back and he even brought company! Hello Todo and Nanami, thanks for the hard work. It is worth celebrating but Tsumiki took all my nectar."
The fact Nanami got to keep his suit even inside my Dream speaks of how uptight he still is, so it is hard for me to hold a grudge when he simply nodded at me curly. "I am sorry for my absent behavior, there were some matters that required my attention and care." He justifies himself without looking at the human-shaped matter in question.
After our confrontation with Tengen, Yuji started a one-man crusade to right all wrongs across the world and Nanami appointed himself as his keeper. As the only consistent link to one of the three only heroes in the world, Japan made a point to keep on paying him but he turned it down seen as he was pursuing a personal matter.
He has grown somewhat since last I saw him, something that surprised me. Nanami simply lacked the hunger that led one to ascend like Gojo, but he was the kind of steadfast guy who ended up ascending by hissing to the circumstances. There is hope for him yet.
Differently from who probably would have already ascended if it was not for the chip over his shoulders. Todo bore a severe look, he was clearly looking for trouble yet had the patience to prioritize and wait.
Yuji pinned me down with a most intense stare, I guess something finally clicked after he helped me set up the Parthenon of my soul as a spiritual hub. Or rather, he could no longer bring himself to deny it.
"Zagreus-sensei, why did you keep from me the truth?" He inquired indignant, yet there was an imperious hauntness that made it sound like a treat.
"What truth?" I feinted oblivion causing Yuji's affronted demeanor to wither away to reveal weariness.
"… that I am Sukuna." The words left his mouth like defeat.
I signed in exasperation, "Worthless, presumptions, and arrogant boy! You avoided me and every single one of your friends for years to gallivant across the world in a quest for redemption just to knock on my door with a demon in your heart to demand the answer to a question you already know. You always have! Deep down to your core."
Yuji wasn't staring me down anymore but clutching his heart as if in physical pain, my heavy words easily cutting to the heart of the matter. I stopped shouting though, Khorramzadeh quintessence made it so no soul was deaf enough to not hear or misinterpret my words. To be honest, Nanami and Todo did a superb job bringing him to me before Yuji's situation deteriorated.
"It doesn't matter- I tried to reason.
"Of course it fucking does!" Yuji shouted me down in a fit of anger with the hand on his chest almost trying to rip his heart out. "All of it, everything he did with my body was not only my fault, but on some level, I was part of the will that committed these crimes. All of them… someone like that-
"Should just die already?" I said, hitting the nail in the head as his body froze like a block of iron. I signed in exasperation, this incorrigible child.
"I mean what I said, Yuji," I say as I walk up to him and embrace him just as I always did during his moments of vulnerability during the one-year seclusion in the hyperbolic time chamber. It is a testament to his piety to his virtue that he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me, surpassing even Gojo. Yet the boy was still the same mess from back then, and it doesn't help that Japanese people are raised bereft of physical contact and basic affection; even Nanami almost gave up being a sorcerer after a close brush with death, and that is why he fostered his on me. A foreigner unconcerned with social niceties, the Japanese people even started calling me Shuten Doji (little drunkard) as a term of endearment after Tsumiki blackmail folder got leaked and my youthful form was shown to the public.
Leave it to a riotous son of raging heaven to wail his heart out in public without any shame. Half of that nation's strife could be alleviated through the simple and primal act of catharsis.
"In order to amend for his sin which no mortal had the means to punish him for, the Champion subjected himself to ten impossible labors to be decided by his worst enemies in exchange for atonement." I started because as a Pratyekabuddhayāna (Solitary Buddha), Yuji was in the same circumstance. This is a story he was familiar with, an analogy I had used before whenever his mod sunk down the abyss. "Cursed with madness and back-breaking labors yet he struggled not only for himself but also on behalf of those that suffered before him, and those that will suffer after."
"…"
"… and yet."
"He was actually cut down, right?" Yuji found his voice and answered me. "What was handed down from Heaven when the final labor was complete was an eleventh task, the one that killed him."
"Yes, ten steps to the peak. That had been the deal, the bargain struck with the Heavens. But instead of providence, he was given an eleventh as a reward. How cruel is that? It was not the Champion's side of the bargain that was unfulfilled, yet his virtuous heart was condemned as lacking, that a son of raging heaven must stand alone and unrewarded to be judged worthy." I seized Yuji's head and brought it inches from my face. "Is that really the reward you want to find at the end of your story, Yuji?"
He could not answer me but neither could he pull back either.
"No atonement, no forgiveness or reconciliation to one's misdeeds. Is this kind of life even worth living, having your face eternally dragged through the mud, unacknowledged within as well as without no matter how much you tried? That part of your story is nothing special or unusual. Every [decrepit soul] is appointed the same destiny by the Heavens, a life stepped in cruelty and hatred of one's fellow man. Yet you are a cultivator, aren't you? Why do you do the things you do? Why do you walk this path so strayed from its intender course and defy Heaven?"
"… you know."
"But I want you to say it aloud."
"…"
"…"
"My grandfather. He-, he asked me to use my strength to help people so that I don't die alone like he did."
"And since when did you start to curse him?"
At my provocation Yuji's pneuma exploded like a Vulcan, and there was a reason he kept the title of King of Curses. Only the most virtuous of souls could hope to keep their composure when confronted by such power and refined malice. I am pretty sure even most heroes would be intimidated by him. Too bad I had spat the face of god even as Rher unraveled my mind. I was so beyond caring that I don't even remember how to back down anymore.
"Do my words hurt you, boy? Then answer me this, why are you trying to cut everyone from your life then?!" I shouted as I grabbed him by the shirt, tearing it enough to reveal the necklace I gave him. The underworld pass that guaranteed his grandfather's wish would come true. "I know Buddha preached unfettered detachment but until the day you ascend, you are still just another man! Why are you cutting us off while keeping Sukuna in your heart, stupid? Focus on cutting through the swathing treats smothering your fellow man, severing resentment, and dismantling this odious karma you had been saddled with instead."
"… how you always know the right thing to say, Zagreus-sensei?" Yuji asked while slowly releasing his uncoiled tension, showing traces of the peppy young man I knew him to be.
"I can read minds and hear hearts, I would be a really worthless wretch if I didn't learn the way around humans by then. And you are far better off than me. I was not even a cultivator at your age. I expected him to crop up eventually as well, giving me time to think about what to say to you. Just go home, Yuji. Megumi and Tsumiki are more qualified to help you than me."
"Home, eh?" Yuji tasted these words in his mouth. "I guess I owe Fushiguro a visit. Oh, by the way. Todo wanted to talk with you about something!" He says excitedly. His troubles were not resolved but he isn't the kind to roll over and die.
"Of course he does." I say while looking at the approaching Todo who was taking his shirt off, which was rude since this was my Dream. Not that I am surprised. We both knew what this was about.
I looked him in the eyes and said, "I stand for what I said then. Heavenly Restriction was a novelty with serious side effects. I can't in good coincidence endorse it."
Todo just nodded, then punched me in the face.
-//-
"So you finally figured out Nenio is a kitsune. Good for you, hacking enough affection points to progress her guest line."
"Wait, so you knew?!" Panaka accused me, whether it came more accusatory than he intended due to the surprise or overstress caused by the mountain of paperwork fostered into him as the Knight Commander of the 5th Crusade, I could not say.
"Indeed, a fascinating phenomenon. While exploring some ruins advertised by a ghost to promise limitless knowledge for the one to unravel it, I suddenly found myself in this unusual form. It took a while but I eventually hypothesized this is my true form that I had somehow forgotten about. Truly, a subject worth further analysis. That is why I want to recruit you to explore it." Nenio explained in an enthusiastic yet almost scientific approach and detachment. The fact she is oblivious to the exasperated faces of their friends at her blunt remarks is quite endearing too.
"Sure, sure. I would be glad to run off with you all dungeon crawling while in the middle of a campaign." I say honestly, yet due to the absurdity some among Panaka's companions took it as a jest but the man himself knew better by then.
Daeran, an irredeemable instigator and still somewhat incensed by our early confrontation could no bear to pass up the chance to test me, as any other form of divine authority crossing his way. "Really, such a dignified and exalted presence would be better to not engage in such low-class jest. What face would your poor flock have then." Dearan said in diplomatic vernix of barely concealed sarcasm laced with poison, the bare minimum to get always while testing a god.
The way Lann flinched back at his words while wanting to kill him only served to show the truth of it. The former mongrel was a fanatic convert, not a surprise really. The disheveled work made by the demon that cursed his bloodline was an amateur's crude hand compared to the creative genius of Patch-face curse and the majestic horror of the Moon God. I could heal it as a philosopher in enough time through soul physiotherapy. As a hero it was so effortless, I feel like I am exploiting them for the undying loyalty I received in turn.
Also, the bleached gnome hellknight commander didn't take our bickering well either.
I just snored.
"War is a cold game. While glorious battle worth of epics are unavoidable decisive points in a war against a foreign force like the Abyss, the outcome of the war will be decided by the thousand virtuous steps taken before blades are even to cross." I said with authority, that my tireless focus to make an unstoppable war machine was no secret. Mendev nobility and Iomedae's church regarded this rising power with trepidation even as they tried to outshine me. But that was the least of my worries.
"Which brings me back to you," I access while pinning the hellknight with my meanest stare, and to his credit, he withstood it as well as a mortal could manage. "What does the paralictor of the Order of the Godclaw want from me exactly to have the temerity to demand my presence? Your little club hardly needs permission to play demon slayers in the Worldwound."
My words were derisive and caustic but not untrue. Only by my grace has the Worldwound ever mended, maybe other gods could do so but the infamous Contract of Divinity all true divinities adhered to kept the material world from becoming a battlefield. The extensive and torrid history Golarion has with demi-gods only proves that.
Regill took my insult for the permission to speak it was and forged on, determined to get my patronage. "Oh, but I assure you that the Order of the Claw and other hellknight institutions can be far more than that. You certainly have not only the might but also the vision to push the Worldwound once and for all! Hells, even the Abyss itself might be dealt with once and for all and you will find no better men to carry this task than the Hellknights."
Regill was an interesting fellow. Gnomes were a race originally native to the First World and as such are notoriously whimsical, capricious, and rambunctious, always searching for novelty and excitement as an animal search for food and water. Literally. Gnomes risk dying otherwise. A lack of exposure to new and exciting experiences bleaches them of all color, followed by depression and apathy, followed by madness and death. Yet some dreadful ones survive.
Most amazing of all. Apparently, some can even be cured by a strong enough chock.
Regill's bleaching had been reversed by a good one hundred years. It was too much a core part of his identity to reverse it without risking shattering his Ego. The dourness of his identity as a hellknight was too much a part of himself for him to let go. But even so, there was an electric tension just under his skin no longer armored by a mantle of detached apathy.
The field leader of the Hellknights in the Worldwound saw the silver path to victory and he leaped without even looking.
Not everybody was okay with that though. Sosiel, the human cleric had a distasteful frown and accusing eyes that looked at Regill like he was walking garbage. But it was Seelah, the paladin of Iomedae, who exploded with righteous indignation and revulsion.
"Hell no, we don't need the likes of these black armored statues! I heard the paladin Order of the Sunlight Sword was forcefully joined with the Godclaw after a devastating gargoyle attack. He gave the paladins two flasks of water and a sack to use as bandages and even ordered his own wounded to be finished off to deny the chance to capture them! I don't want to fight side by side with someone who will slit my throat if I am weak and wounded. You can't defeat one evil by inviting an equal but more organized evil into your ranks!" The paladin of Iomedae vociferated, steel in her voice.
I interjected. "You heard? I expected better from you Seelah, you should know better by now after your recent experiences. You misplaced your faith in a lot of people, and harbor doubts about your rapid progress. No one will ever truly know a thing until they've seen it for themselves.
"I saw the paralict casual disregard for the souls under his care with my own eyes. Blindness is a common affliction among men of his stature. A commander spends enough time playing toy soldier in the sand, eventually, he forgets that his men aren't really made of stone." I accused, and Regill almost made a fatal misstep in answer until Panaka interjected, verbalizing words that were not truly his own.
"The Abyss is like a teeming mass of unrestrained aggression. An individual demon might be pathetic and weak and their society is chaotic and disorganized yet there is an almost hypnotic pull to their legion as if they were less former mortals and more a primordial force unrelenting on its march."
"The kidnapping attempts of the demons might have been part of a greater plan or might be just demons indulging in vice and sadistic pleasure. Our enemies are not mortal armies of barbarians and treating them as such just show ignorance." I turned once more to Regill and pinned him with a merciless judging stare, magnified by my mythical might. "Tell me paralictor, of what use are your hellknights when I can charm the very earth to rise as soldiers of stone?"
The tension in the room was electric, I wasn't outright rejecting Regill but I made clear he wasn't impressing me either so far. Yet he did not rise to his post by chance, he was made of sterner stuff.
"Because we are hellknights." The half-bleached gnome says with conviction that belies his diminutive stature, carrying unflinching conviction in the ideals of his order. "You who could instill order and discipline in the barbarian kellids will find each of our men to be worth ten of these unwashed raddles put together." Regill says, unbothered and unflappable at the death stores thrown his way. His words certainly didn't help him ingratiate himself with my forces but at least he seems to understand the basics of performative excellence.
I whistled in answer to show my approval, and despite himself, he felt elated even if he didn't display it outward.
Seelah once more interjected. "Are going through with it, Zagreus? I beg you to reconsider, please! Giving this kind of power to hellknights will only do harm to the free people of Golarion." She begged of me.
I just signed in exasperation. "Seelah, you say that because you walk the path of the champion – you stand alone. But even so, you know cultivation only makes someone more than what they are yet it allows them to walk the path toward who they want to become. Whether they are worth of it or not can only be assessed in the end of their stories. Isn't that right?" I say while directing my gaze toward Panaka's latest addition, the redeeming succubus meekly hiding in the shadows. Arueshalae, the poisonous butterfly of Desna.
Seelah signed in defeat, she was so overjoyed by Arueshalae's tale of redemption she had gladly accepted her addition to our ranks during Drezen invasion. "You are worse than Ember! Sometimes as dreadful as Zon-Kuthon yet as magnanimous and compassionate as Sarenrae.
I just laughed at her needling; she was right after all. "Although the illustration of cultivation as a climb, the experience of it is closer to unstoppable descent. And whether someone reaches the bottom in one piece or otherwise is up to their own foundation."
I turned once more to Regill, "The path of the captain is a rash one. One hundred men fighting as one are better than a single man with the strength of a thousand put together, yet to do so your souls will have to be conjoined in purpose with you as its towering pillar. Know that you will have to forsake this dispassionate detachment you prize so much, there is no future for an army where the captain is elevated by his soldiers while they languish with their own weight. You will be expected to carry the weight of your men for them to carry you to victory. Knowing that, do you still want to condemn yourself to my patronage?"
The paralictor of the Order of the Godclaw accented in confirmation. "Nothing would make me happier. These kinds of tortuous battles are what hellknights are made for. I was correct in presuming there was a method to your madness, despite your questionable company." Regill says while pinning Arueshalae with a death stare.
I manifested my pneuma and inducted Regill and his present subordinates in my army. What is the worst that could happen anyway?
-//-
Man, this chapter was a lot of fun, even though it was a drag to write. I wasn't very satisfied with the characterization of the cast of WoR I had done so far but I feel I managed to capture the spark of identity this time. It took far more time than I expected but it serves to show the rapport Zagreus build with people around him and how they perceive him.
So after a lot of delays, I finally get to post this. The hazard of living in a tropical region, seasonal diseases are hard to content to. Fortunately, my health has improved and I got to move the plot forward.
Yeah, Zagreus became the divine founder of New Rome. Considering how much mass combat is involved in this campaign, the Roman-style cultivation is given a chance to shine. The kellid religion style also helped a lot to adapt this model, with some concessions. Roman progression is supposed to have eight realms instead of the Greek four, and they correspond to people's place in the city of Rome. Out of those we only know the last two, Dictator and Dictator Perpetuo. We know Sol was a legate, a commander who leads thousands of soldiers directly, so the centurion realm who leads one hundred is at least one level below.
Besides this, we don't know what powers each realm grants but based on how it operates it seems the Greek style is unusually puissant and diverse in powers in each realm compared to other styles of cultivation.
