Chapter 242: For I, Too, Am Human
The unexpected confrontation with Flamme had left him feeling a little... unsettled. He had intended to go straight back to Serie, but he had decided to first say his official goodbyes to the lord and the bishop.
The duke, he was told, was inspecting the city walls. Only the bishop was in the small side-hall. He found him by the window, a book in his hand, a book he recognized.
"My lord Bishop," he said.
"Lord Rhodes," he said, and closed the book with a smile. "Please, sit. What can I do for you?"
"We have come to take our leave," he said, getting straight to the point. "We did not intend to stay long. And now that the danger has passed, it is time for us to go."
"I see," the bishop said with a nod, not at all surprised. "A traveler such as yourself is not one to stay in one place for long. Do not worry. I will convey your words to the duke."
"Thank you." His gaze then fell upon the book on the bishop's lap. The cover... it was the same as the first edition of the grimoire he and Norne had written, so long ago. It was not the original, of course, just a copy, an old and a well-worn one. And on its spine was the insignia of a pair of a white wings, the mark of a book of a holy magic, a magic that had once been a gift from the Goddess to the Sky-Winged.
The bishop saw his gaze and smiled. "A remarkable work, is it not?" he said, and gently stroked the cover. "Even after a thousand years, it is still required reading for all mages, especially for those of us who study the holy arts." He looked up at him, a deep and a sincere reverence in his eyes. "The first god-slayer, Lord Rhodes... he was truly the greatest of all humans. He not only created a system of a magic that changed the world, but he even received the original text of the holy magic from the goddess herself, and simplified it, so that it could be passed down to future generations. If not for him, a man of a mediocre talent such as myself would have never been able to glimpse the mysteries of the holy arts."
He was silent for a moment, and his gaze turned to the window. "He was not the only one," he said, his own voice now a flat and an emotionless sound. "His companions, the ones who became legends alongside him... they, too, made their own contributions. And without the foundation they laid... none of this would have been possible." He thought of her, of the first attack spells she had taught him, the spells he had then improved upon. Without her... he would have never reached the heights he had. And this book... it would have never been written. Her name... it should have been on the cover, as well. But she had refused.
The bishop, in turn, saw the truth in his words. He looked at him, at his calm and a serene profile, and a new and a bold thought came to his mind. "My lord," he said, his own voice a low and a hesitant sound, "you are him, are you not? The Lord Rhodes from a thousand years ago."
The bishop's own body was now tense, his own, now cloudy, eyes fixed on him, waiting for an answer.
He slowly turned and met his gaze. And with a calm and an unwavering gaze, he nodded. "I am."
Though he had already suspected it, to hear the words, to have the truth of it confirmed... a wave of a pure and an unadulterated shock washed over the old man, and his own body began to tremble. He was about to rise, to give a proper bow, but he was stopped by a gentle gesture.
A thousand questions now swirled in his mind. But in the end... he just bowed his own head. "Thank you," he said, and his own voice was now a low and a choked sound, a sound of a pure and a sincere gratitude. "...for everything you have done for humanity."
He just looked at the old man's own, now bowed, head and shook his own. "It was nothing. For I, too, am human." As long as he lived... he had to do something, for himself, and for his own people. It was a decision he had made a long, long time ago.
After a long and a pregnant silence, the bishop finally regained his own composure. He sat up, and his own eyes were now filled with a new and a different kind of a reverence.
They talked for a little while longer, and he, he answered his questions, and gave him a few pointers on the holy arts, pointers that now, after a thousand years of a his own study and a his own experience, were a new and a different kind of a revelation.
And when it was time for him to go, the bishop did not try to keep him any longer. He just walked him to the door. "Lord Rhodes," he said, and his own voice was now a low and a hesitant sound, "forgive me for my own impertinence. But... how? How have you lived for a thousand years?"
It was a question of an eternal life, a question of a forbidden knowledge, a question that could have brought a new and a different kind of a plague upon the human race. He knew he should not have asked. But he had to know.
He did not turn. "With a special method," he said, his own voice a cool and a level sound. "A method that only I can use."
He understood. The method... it was his alone, a thing that could not be replicated, a thing that was not to be coveted. "And... my lord," he asked, a new and a different kind of a question in his own voice, "after all this time... are you... pleased, with what we have become? Have we... have we lived up to your own, and their, expectations?"
He finally turned, and a complex and an unreadable smile now touched his own lips. "I am content," he said. "Life finds a way. And humanity... has never disappointed me."
And with that, he turned and left, his own form now a fleeting and a ghostly thing that was soon gone from the bishop's own sight.
And he, the bishop, he just stood there for a long, long time, and then he gave a new and a final, and a most-sincere, bow. "Thank you again, Lord Rhodes," he said.
(End of chapter)
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