The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 43: New Commands

Chapter 43: New Commands

I followed Father Ithris back into the Divine Throne. He paced ahead, his footsteps quick and agitated, occasionally shooting glances over his shoulder until I caught up. I paused for breath after ascending each flight of stairs, much to his growing impatience, but my exhaustion overruled any concern for his irritation. At long last, we arrived at the Chapel of Councils, where the slave crest was first given me.

Surprisingly, the Pope was there, along with his usual train of Fathers and attendants. They sat in a circle in the center of the chapel, deep in discussion. As we entered, the Pope raised his hand and silence fell over the room. He beckoned us forward to the middle of the circle, where Father Ithris left me and took a seat in an empty chair.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, giving a deep curtsy, as was tradition of slaves in the presence of the Pope.

"The Slave Hero," he said, frowning as he stroked his chin. "I wish you made things easy for us."

"Holy One?" I asked, raising my head to look at him in confusion. Surely, it was the other way around!

"Silence," a Father at his left hissed. "Speak only when asked a question."

"Let it be," the Pope said, "she is a hero, no matter how cursed that thought may be."

The father nodded and gave me a glare, but I didn’t expect any friends here to begin with. Only Father Ithris maintained a civil, if indifferent, expression, but even that was something born from long exposure.

The Pope lifted a scroll up and scanned over the information, his eyes occasionally flicking up to glance at me. "It seems you’ve developed some unusual talents. Mastering the Eyes of Fate so young and with little guidance, learning chant and modifying spells, weak as they are, and learning spells at a rate that can only be described as monstrous. I can’t help but feel these gifts wasted on you, a mere demon."

I averted my gaze, fingers fidgeting nervously, betraying my unease. "I didn’t ask for any of this. Did you call me here about the War Hero?"

"Quite frank today, I see. Has your victory given you unearned confidence? Regardless of your perceived achievements, you are only a demon, and a slave at that. But, you are not here to discuss the duel."

"I’m not? Even though you cheated to make us lose?"

I covered my mouth, but the words were already out. Horrified, I watched as the Pope’s face hardened like stone and he exuded a subtle pressure that made breathing difficult.

"Watch what you say, slave," he said. "You live only by the grace of the gods. You should know how easy it is to lose such grace."

I gasped for breath as the pressure disappeared, but the cold look on his face remained. "A few hours ago, a certain elf instructor took the qualifications to teach. You know her, perhaps? A dutiful and skilled mage, she has now mastered chants, and achieved a high evaluation for her modified Life Dew Spell. Selena, I believe her name was."

I gulped, feeling a bead of sweat travel down my forehead. So that was it. "I learned magic from her, Holy One, and she is very talented. I don’t think the qualifications ever entered her sight."

"Is that so? In that case, I rejoice to hear there is one so worthy of instructing our youth. She worked on that spell on her own, and developed the chant by herself. Understand?"

I nodded, looking around at the solemn faces surrounding me. What were they playing at?

"Additionally, I was interested to hear how much effort you put into learning the fourth-circle spell Dispel Magic. Surely the weeks of devotion were tiring, and I’m glad it paid off in the duel."

"Holy One?" I asked, looking up. "I don’t understand-"

"And speaking of the duel, how lucky you found a forgotten tome containing the third-circle version of the Fate spell, Link Soul. Truly, it was a marvel of coincidence you were able to beat the War Hero."

My voice trembled, laced with confusion and frustration. "What exactly are you implying?"

"I’ve overlooked your competence long enough. Today, I am giving you a few new commands, bound to your slave crest. First, I forbid you from discussing your magical talent or knowledge with anyone, save your party when the time comes. Second, You must never take credit for anything you’ve done, but give all praise to the Sun Hero. And third, most importantly, I command you to obey without question any orders given you by those of higher social status, save they should contradict a commandment or the words of Soltair, myself, or one I designate. This includes those of the upper echelon of the church, as well as any bearing noble blood in the various kingdoms of the world."

As he spoke, I could feel my eyes grow wide and I stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious? By what right do you make these commandments?

"Simple. Soltair left it open to members of the church, did he not?"

I had no retort. In his first command, Soltair clearly outlined that I must obey the commands of the clergy. And now, that included their every whim. "A-as you say," I finally said, remembering etiquette enough to curtsy. I was filled with indignation, but the last thing I wanted to do was draw the Pope’s ire further. I forced myself to relax, barely managing to conceal the frustration in my tone. "Is that all, Holy One?"

He leaned back in his chair, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "Much better. You truly embody the title of ’Slave Hero.’ As you are now properly bound by commandment, there is no longer a reason for you to burden Father Ithris. You may return to your activities as you wish, and continue to prepare for the demonic invasion."

Now that they understood my abilities and addressed them, there wasn’t a need for such a close watch. Feeling relieved on that account, I curtsyed again and left without another word. As I left the chapel, I yearned to find Soltair, but didn’t know when to start. Would he be in his room by now? Living in the slave quarters restricted our contact, so I had no idea what his schedule looked like.

How long would it be until the whole Divine Throne knew of my vulnerabilities? The growing anxiety ate away at me as I stumbled down the stairs, exploding into full grown terror when I passed a window. The fading twilight darkneed as the Sun fell behind the mountains, casting a purple light about the corridors. When was curfew again? I hurried onward, making it to the slave quarters without incident. The hallways were deserted, and most of the lights had gone out.

Just as I was feeling relieved, the slave crest quivered, gradually beginning to glow like iron in a forge. I tensed, grabbing a nearby wall for support as a burst of pain swept through me. It nearly knocked me off my feet, and I groaned through clenched teeth. After a long, agonizing minute, the pain faded, but the slave crest continued to glow. The punishment ignited the injuries in my soul, but I trudged on, fighting for every step. Another burst of pain paralyzed me once more, lasting about twenty seconds longer. Did they know this would happen?

Finally, after the third punishment, I staggered into my door. Sensing my slave crest, it unlocked and allowed me entry. As I stepped into the room, the scarlet glow of the slave crest dimmed, filling me with a sense of safety and relief. Exhaustion washed over me, and I collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I took deep breaths until the throbbing pain in my soul ceased.

That night, I was reminded of two very important lessons: never break curfew, and never burn my soul.

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