Chapter 10 - Prime Mancer I

The blind man interrupted my thoughts with an unexpected revelation, "The Prime Mancer...exists."

Confusion engulfed me as questions raced through my mind, far outpacing any answers. A stunned silence filled the air, creating a void where sound should have been. My senses froze, suspended in a moment of pure shock.

Could I believe him? Should I?

Skepticism quickly replaced my initial shock. How could I trust this... monster?

To denounce the effectiveness of the Mist wasn't merely heresy—it was sheer insanity.

I leaned forward once more, attempting to quell my doubts. "Who are they?" I asked, my hand trembling as it tapped the monster's shoulder.

He tilted his head downward before responding, "Though I do not know who, I believe it is somehow connected...to you."

Connected?

I paused, trying to piece together the details: an alleged 'way' through the Mist, a successful experiment involving me, and the blind barbarian beside me—who spoke Common without an accent. None of these circumstances seemed to connect.

Or did they?

I finally took a sip of tea before tapping another question, "Why are you here?"

"Can't you see? I am a prisoner as well," he replied, lifting a chain linked to five spherical metal balls.

Damn.

"But our captors have strongly requested me to train you," he continued. "I suppose that is why you are here."

A barrage of questions flooded my mind. Why would the Church enlist the service of an Oriental? A prisoner? Something didn't add up.

As I prepared to ask more, the monster turned his head toward me, revealing his fused eyes.

On closer inspection, a slight smile played on his lips. Why?

"What is your name?" I asked hastily, his smile shattered the question I had prepared .

He burst into laughter. "Hahaha! You are quite peculiar," he said, his tone filled with joy. "My name is Otto, Mr. Maxwell."

Otto's robe fluttered as he abruptly stood, his voice now flat, "That is enough questions for the time being. Follow me."

Without pause or hesitation, he began moving toward the northern corridor, his movements fluid and graceful, as if his very cells were made of water. And his chains—was he carrying them?

The stone hallway stretched ahead, cool and solid underfoot. Intricate oriental patterns adorned the walls, vibrant hues of red, gold, and blue weaving a mesmerizing tapestry. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, adding to the mystique.

At the end of the hallway stood a sturdy wooden door, its polished surface gleaming. Delicate carvings of foreign characters adorned it, similar to the ones I had seen before.

"Since you have already made yourself at home," Otto remarked, pushing open the door, "it's only fitting that this room is yours."

The room unveiled a familiar scene, one I had confronted before. It was the very room where my previous encounter with the blind had unfolded. My eyes narrowed as I took in the room's dilapidated state.

The remnants of the one-sided battle lay strewn across the floor, debris scattered haphazardly like the aftermath of a storm.

Two deep craters marred the wooden planks where my knees had once struck. A disorganized heap of various weapons now leaned against the wall, a testament to chaos. The once open paper wall was hastily boarded up with wooden planks.

Turning around, I realized Otto had vanished. He had slipped away without a sound, leaving me perplexed. My eyes fell on a bowl of beans placed on the ground, as if in explanation.

How did he leave so quickly?

My mind craved answers, but more pressing matters demanded my attention. I picked up the bowl and made my way to the corner where the weapons lay. If I had to fight, I needed a weapon.

The creak of the wooden boards beneath me signaled the start of a relentless train of thought.

I had gleaned a wealth of information from my conversation with Otto.

If Otto was truly a prisoner of war, he wouldn't be housed in this opulent miniature palace. No, for the Church to 'strongly request' the services of an Oriental, he must be someone of significant importance. It wasn't far-fetched to assume he was a general of those monsters.

By Masse's grace, I had never witnessed the horrors of the Eastern Front, but the gruesome tales had been ingrained in every Brittanican mercenary, myself included.

There was a reason I chose the life of a mercenary over the draft. The slightest chance of being sent to that hell was a deterrent like no other.

Among all the coastal conflicts, the Eastern region was the worst by a far margin. In the Church's eyes, returning prisoners was akin to aiding their adversaries, as it risked empowering them with additional troops.

And every opportunity for an advantage was seized and exploited. Prisoners of war and civilians from the East were not merely imprisoned—they were executed. Crucified, even.

But why would a prisoner speak of the Prime Mancer?

The Church harboring a barbarian was shocking enough, but what Otto revealed was even more startling: the existence of The Prime Mancer.

Before the Era of Masse, the continent was a mosaic of thousands of religions. These diverse beliefs bred conflicting worldviews, igniting a continent-wide war that raged for five centuries.

Five hundred years of indiscriminate slaughter.

Yet, this prolonged turmoil gave rise to a Savior—a Messiah. Legends spoke of his ability to command the very essence of the Mist, erecting impenetrable barriers across nations.

The Prime Mancer founded the Religion of Masse, aiming to eradicate all other faiths through a single, devastating Crusade. The campaign was too successful, yet in a way, justified.

To the masses, he was nothing less than a deity, a benefactor to the peasants and a guardian to the nobles.

Despite being a Messiah, he was not immortal. Death loomed over him as it did over me. His existence generated enemies, and his ambition to unify the continent under one nation was met with resistance.

The specifics of his death remained shrouded in mystery, but the Church propagated a different narrative.

According to them, coastal nations betrayed and killed their Messiah, sparking an unending cycle of blame and warfare.

But how did the war connect with the emergence of another Prime Mancer—unless...