I Swear I'm Not A Dark Lord!

Paladin Cadmius II

~ High Bishop Yaonoch ~

The day-to-day life of a high bishop wasn't anything to envy. Whenever he was at the Home Priory, he spent most of his time reading reports in the Heirophant's wing of the central administration building. His Holiness, Laurence VI, patriarch of the Church of Divine Gifts, had his office just down the hall from Yaonoch. A squad of assorted guards of the third and fourth tiers guarded the floor. It was stifling, but it wasn't forever. Sooner or later, something would pop up in the reports interesting enough to justify leaving the confines of the Home Priory.

"Your Eminence, an oracle wishes to speak with you. She says it's urgent."

"We'll go directly." Yaonoch knew he shouldn't be grateful for trouble, but anything that pulled him away from his desk was welcome. Oracles weren't allowed on the top floor without permission and an escort, so it was faster for Yaonoch to go down a floor than it was to wait for her to be brought up.

The oracle wore a veil that reached her knees. As a symbol of their divine connection, oracles never left their cloister unless they were covered entirely from head to toe. To anyone who didn't know them, they could only be distinguished by the embroidery on their veils. It was more tradition than scriptural dictate, and Yaonoch wondered how much time she had to waste putting on her coverings before she could deliver her urgent message. This one was their youngest and most talented.

"No preamble," he said, "just tell me."

"Your Eminence, I have seen the church engulfed in flames of cataclysm. A masked figure stands in the ruins of the Home Priory. He is touched by the gods. A lone paladin stands against him."

"Did you recognize the paladin?"

"He is not from the Home Priory. In the vision, he was old and wore colors of dark green and white. I only had a glimpse of him, but I tried to draw a picture." She produced a drawing of a square-faced man with a straight nose. It was often remarked that the youngest oracles saw furthest, but produced the least reliable reports. In this case, a line drawing of a man's face. A more experienced oracle would have made a detailed portrait, but Yaonoch recognized the man in the picture. Even among Paladins, Cadmius had a reputation for being stiff-necked. And, he was only sixty. Young people didn't know what 'old' was.

"Sir," called a guard, "there is another oracle here to see you."

"Let them in." One oracle was portentious. A second was confirmation.

Another of their youngest was admitted to the meeting room and prepared to offer lengthy greetings from beneath her layers of lace.

"Just tell me," Yaonoch commanded.

"I saw the Temple of Origins, held in the hand of a giant. A holy sword cut the giant's hand, and the temple fell. It … it fell, an impossible distance, onto dark city streets. The Temple of Origins shattered like glass. I never saw the sword-wielder's face."

Another oracle evaded the guards and strode into the room as if they'd been invited. This one was their oldest, and a man. Even more unusually, he was a beastkin. Yaonoch didn't know what tribe he was, only that it was something with a snout and tail that sometimes swished under the long coverings. His seniority came with certain privileges, which he liked to use to the hilt whenever he had a vision to share.

"Oh, good, I'm not the only one. Maybe this time you lot will listen. Here it is."

His voice filled the room with dire portent. "I heard a voice, as a trumpet calling forth a mighty host to battle. "The covenant is broken. How long must you forsake the oaths made to your gods? The servant who will not serve shall be cast out and his house given to another." End prophecy."

The oracle fumbled with his coverings until he got a hand free, covered in brown and red fur. The hand sprouted claws, which grasped the long veil and pulled it apart. A wolfkin snout emerged from the coverings.

"What are you doing?" shouted the first oracle.

"I'm retiring," said the wolfkin. He tore the coverings far more than necessary, baring his teeth all the while. Sections of cloth slumped to the ground while bits of lace lingered in the air. He shook off the remaining scraps and kicked them aside.

The leader of the guards half-drew his weapon. "An oracle can't just leave the Home Priory."

"Let him go," Yaonoch ordered. "Escort him, and find someone to help him pack his things. The priory will pay for his transportation to anywhere he wants to go, within the Empire."

"Your Eminence," began the guard, but Yaonoch cut him off.

"Oracles aren't slaves. They have contracts, and today's events have nullified his. Attempting to keep him here only makes things worse. That is all I will say on the matter." The guard closed his mouth. "More importantly, I must see the patriarch right away. Attend to me."

Paladins had broad discretion when carrying out their duties and could ignore orders they believed were unjust. On the rare occasion a paladin went astray, only the pontiff could rein them in.

~ Paladin Cadmius ~

Cadmius rushed through the sudden lights and booms, relying on Battlesense to guide him. The distracting spell could blind a second-tier fighter, and completely incapacitate a first-tier, but Cadmius advanced, sword-tip first. The sculptor, now wreathed in water, sprang back with magically enhanced speed.

"Don't do this," pleaded the masked monster from inside his waterfall. "I haven't done anything wrong. Go in peace, and I'll do the same."

Cadmius circled as the boy talked, until he stood next to the dazed squire. The boy did nothing while he used Lay On Hands on her, and she climbed to her feet. People in the street were running away, ducking into buildings, or hiding behind vehicles. An empty street was good. It meant fewer casualties.

"The church swore not to recruit or impede me until my twelfth year. No serious harm has been done to you or yours. Let's call this a misunderstanding and call it a day."

"A monster like you would never be welcome in the Giving Church."

"Your High Bishop Yaonoch thinks otherwise."

"Surrender. I'll take you in, and we can sort this out at the priory. If you're telling the truth, you'll be free by tomorrow night."

"That would require trust," scoffed the mask. "You cut off my hand, for no reason! I'm not stupid enough to go anywhere with you." He brandished the missing limb for emphasis.

"You can trust a paladin's oath."

"You don't even know the name of your own squire. You attacked a child in broad daylight. And, apparently, you don't care if you make a liar of the church. What, exactly, are you a paladin of?"

The most intelligent, most terrifying monsters were skilled liars. Every Paladin learned that lesson, or died because they failed to. Accordingly, Cadmius ignored the seed of doubt the sculptor tried to plant. "Have it your way, Sculptor."

He shifted his weight forward, but was met with a bewildering array of spells. Blades and spears of pure force rattled off his armor, fire and wind dissipated against his Elemental Protection, followed by lightning. When that didn't hurt him, a pulse of force tried to sweep him aside on suddenly frictionless ground. Cadmius was moved several feet, but steadied himself with Protector's Roots. Gravity released him, and Cadmius was trapped in a sensation of constant falling. If it weren't for Roots, he would have floated uselessly in midair.

While the monster was engaged with testing Cadmius, the squire tried to circle around him for a flanking attack. That would have been a fine tactic in a party of soldiers, but not when she had a tank available. Moving only separated her from his Protective Aura. Cadmius tried to shout a warning, but he was too late. A nearly invisible bolt of magic hit her squarely in the face, and she dropped like the dead.

For several seconds, the number of spells aimed at Cadmius increased until they were like a storm, but between his magic resistance, defenses, and fast parries with a magic-breaking sword, the damage he took was minor. Cadmius had a few ranged attacks, but bizarrely, the sculptor was able to counter them. He racked his brain for what kind of monster it could be. Something able to use several kinds of magic without spells or trigger words, but underpowered. Nothing came to mind.

Cadmius tried to use Freedom of Movement to counter all of the mobility controls the beast could throw at him, but the skill failed to form. The sculptor laughed at him. "You're not so good with that one, are you?"

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

With the constant barrage of spells, Cadmius nearly missed when the sculptor tried to retrieve his bag. An invisible force was yanking the severed handle, but the satchel refused to budge. It lay stubbornly near Cadmius's rooted feet, just outside the pillar of null gravity.

"Well, heck." The sculptor stopped his attacks, and the street went quiet. He didn't dare put himself within the reach of Cadmius's blade, and his spells lacked penetrating power. Cadmius's ranged attacks refused to work against the sculptor.

"You want this? Does it have your treasures in it?" Cadmius crouched down far enough to get his hand on the bag's strap. The bag wouldn't move, but just holding the strap made the water-shrouded figure squirm. "Is this where you keep trophies? Something to remember your victims by? Monsters who pretend to be people are always the sickest ones."

"Do you want to see what's behind the mask? Fine." The illusion disappeared, and the boy pulled away the mask with his remaining hand. Underneath was the face of a frustrated boy, on the verge of tears. A sense of nearby monsters pressed against the paladin's skin.

"Look! I'm just a human, stuck with a curse. Nobody knows why. Happy now?" Interestingly, the severed stump wasn't bleeding. The creature knew healing magic or used regeneration, in addition to all of its other abilities. He'd be a terrifying opponent to a second-tier fighter. Cadmius's eyes moved involuntarily to the squire, whom he'd gotten killed in what should have been a simple interview.

"Don't worry about her," the sculptor told him, "she's just stunned. She's an innocent. This mess is your fault."

Cadmius invoked Scourge Evil. It bothered him to use a skill with a week-long cooldown on a bit of nothing like the sculptor, but he was well and truly stuck. If he cancelled Protector's Roots, he'd float in the air, unable to do anything, and the sculptor was able to counter all his other ranged abilities.

The street lit up as a second sun appeared in the sky, golden and raw, and a heavenly noise of trumpets in harmony sounded over all of Arctown. Windows shook. The elderly clutched their hearts in fear. Dishonest merchants broke out in hives. Unfaithful spouses felt their hair turn gray. Anyone caught in the midst of a lie had their tongue glued to the roof of their mouth. What was rotten or putrescent turned to ash.

The Sculptor laughed, long and freely, rising up and then settling, only to begin again and repeat until the sculptor ran out of breath. The monster put on his mask. "You used divine magic against me. Do you really not understand how stupid that was? Now, hold still while I stun you into next week."

Mana gathered by the sculptor's navel, dense and bright. Cadmius readied his sword in one hand and held tight to the satchel strap with his other. He didn't have any skills or spells left to challenge the sculptor at that range. All he could do was defend. When the Stunning Bolt came, it was larger and faster than any Cadmius had ever seen. His guard was perfect: He should have been able to parry, but the sculptor unexpectedly aimed for his foot. It was a good ploy, but Cadmius's armor took most of the hit, leaving him with a tingling sensation all over his body.

To win this fight, he had to bring the sculptor within reach, so he used the only idea that came to mind. He took the coveted satchel into his inventory.

Cadmius's mana dropped by half. Despite the zero-gravity environment, he felt the weight as a huge increase in inertia. His movements became sluggish.

"Give it back!" The boy was furious. "That isn't yours!"

"Come and get it." Finally, Cadmius would get a chance to strike down this strange enemy.

"Fine." Several paving stones broke free of the street and floated in front of the sculptor, merging into a cylinder with a point at one end, and mana began to gather again. The stone object shrank to half its size, becoming dangerously dense, and started to spin – a common technique to improve a projectile's accuracy.

But the expected blow never came. The projectile dropped harmlessly to the ground.

"Giving up?" asked Cadmius. "Smart choice."

"I just thought of something better that won't cause collateral damage." He swept his amputated arm dramatically in the air and dispelled the gravity trap.

The effect was instant and catastrophic. The magic bag Cadmius had taken into his inventory was several times heavier than anything he could lift. He was forced to his knees, which audibly fractured on the hot surface of the street. He was still using Defender's Root, keeping his feet flat on the ground, which forced his tendons to stretch and break. His upper body bent backwards, fracturing his spine in several places at once and sticking him in a painful bridge position, arms too heavy to lift, sword dropped to one side, throat exposed to the sky.

This was not where he expected to be today. It was supposed to be a milk run, an appeasement to the Augbergs. After everything he had survived in his life, the idea that he could die like this was too absurd. The masked sculptor appeared above him. He must have kicked the sword aside, because Cadmius could hear it clattering and ringing down the street.

"Release my bag. No more harm will come to you." He squatted next to Cadmius and spoke calmly, his recent mania forgotten.

Cadmius's breath came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle. "You're going to kill me no matter what. No." He tried to use Lay On Hands, but it refused to work.

"I'm going to let you live, no matter what. That's why you should give me the bag. Because I'm not a monster. You made a mistake."

"I know monsters," grunted Cadmius. "Answer's no."

Heavy boots, hundreds of them, thundered into Arctown and toward their street corner. Reinforcements. Or, victims. The sculptor could probably slaughter first-tier wardens in his sleep.

"Looks like we're out of time." He showed Cadmius a dagger made of bronze, too small for anything other than opening letters and trimming quills. "This is not a threat. It's proof." He drew a line along Cadmius's face with the edge, causing blood to well. "I can kill you, but I choose not to. I'm praying today was a mistake, that I was careless with my curse, or you were unusually susceptible, and that's why we fought."

"You have to be put down," wheezed Cadmius, "before you kill us all." The knife frightened him, but for the oddest reason. It was bronze. How could bronze cut him so easily? Who even used bronze for weapons these days?

"That's the curse talking." The sculptor's eyes were furious behind his mask, but he held it in check. Instead of slitting Cadmius's throat, he favored him with two slaps to his face, too hard for a friendly pat, too soft for an attack. "You should check your class logs. I bet there's something interesting in them."

Just as every warden in the city arrived to rescue Cadmius, the street filled with fog thick enough to drink from a bottle. He didn't hear the sculptor leave, but the sensation of nearby monsters faded, and soon was gone.

People gathered around him and shouted more questions than he could answer. As soon as friendly faces surrounded him, Cadmius expelled the awful weight from his inventory, and the bag landed with a thud nearby. He got straightened out and laid on a stretcher, but only with a lot of agony and help from a pair of healers. He sent teams of wardens to find the sculptor, starting with Dwergbank and the Black Peony, but didn't harbor much hope of finding him. The monster was smart. He would lie low for now and make a play for his coveted possessions later.

"What do you want us to do with the bag, Sir? We can't move it."

"Find something that'll cut it open. We'll impound the contents, and maybe we'll learn what this thing is."

"Wait!" The squire was on her feet again. Other than a scrape or two, she didn't appear harmed. "You should check your logs before you do that, Sir."

"Cut it," he repeated.

The squire got angry with him. "I know you think I'm useless, because I'm only level nineteen and not a Paladin, but you should check your logs."

"The squire will do as her master says, and be silent!" The healers were doing their best, but the pain was getting to him.

"I'm not your squire! Not anymore. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Check. Your. Logs."

Cadmius checked. His status had changed considerably.

Cadmius Cilix — Fighter, Human Male

Level 59

He wasn't a paladin anymore. That couldn't be right. Could the monster manipulate people's classes? Shocked, Cadmius scrolled through the logs.

Notice: [Divine Compact] is in effect.

You maimed an innocent.

You have attacked a subject protected by [Divine Compact].

You have broken [Divine Compact] on behalf of your church.

Counterparty of [Divine Compact] offered peace. (Rejected)

You attacked an innocent.

Counterparty of [Divine Compact] offered peace. (Rejected)

Counterparty of [Divine Compact] granted you mercy.

Status condition added: [Undeserved Mercy]

[Divine Compact] transitioned to [Divine Compact (Broken)]

Prestige class removed: [Paladin]

Prestige powers removed: [see list]

Prestige skills removed: [see list]

Titles removed: [see list]

Title awarded: [Oathbreaker]

He couldn't take it in. Half of his abilities were gone. The missing titles subtracted potent bonuses from his stats. Could he have been so wrong about something so important? Why would Knexenk punish him for an honest mistake? She wasn't offering a quest to mend the situation.

It was the end of life as he had known it for over forty years. Knexenk was done with him.

The healers kept working on him, setting and fusing cracked bones, and repairing soft tissue. Ironically, normal gravity plus the sculptor's magic luggage had done nearly all the damage. Then, losing so many of his body-enhancing titles on top of his injuries had almost killed him.

The local bishop appeared above the healers. "You look awful."

"I don't feel so great, either."

"Cadmius, I hate to do this," he started, but the ex-paladin interrupted him.

"I'm confined, aren't I?"

"Do you know why?" The bishop tugged on his ear, a habit when he was confused about something. "Because I sure don't."

"I'll bet you a dori that Yaonoch shows up to explain it to us."

The bishop thought about it for a moment and shook his head. "No bet."