Published at 9th of September 2025 12:32 pm

Book 5: Chapter 18 Seeing the Light

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

“In the manner that the Goddess wields twin blades, we too carry two edges of the mind: the longsword of reason and the short blade of insight. The wise cultivate skill with both, that no challenge may find them unprepared.”

- Attributed to Cardinal Mauros.

A tentative knock on the door interrupted my mental rehearsal of my revised story. It was such a soft, hesitant rap on the wood that it stirred an instant pang of pity in me.

I am no monster.

"Come in!" I called out, half-shouting, feigning weariness.

The door opened slowly, revealing Naira. She looked like she had been crying, her eyes red and her features tense. Her clothing caught my attention—a dress that left her shoulders exposed. For commoners, this was nearly scandalous by Al-Lazarian standards, but among the nobility, I had seen much worse. The highborn often flaunted their disdain for propriety.

"May I?" she asked softly, gesturing toward the chair near my bed.

"Of course."

"Thank you, Gilgamesh. But before you tell me everything, please… let me thank you," she began, her voice wavering. "When I cursed the One God for being so powerless, it was you who brought my daughter back to me. You gave her freedom. You gave Zariyah her voice again..."

"It was—"

"No, please," she interrupted, raising a hand. "Let me finish, samasa. I need this." She took a deep breath. "For that gift alone, I could never, ever repay you. I became a mother at fourteen, young even by the standards of my people. But for a time, I was happy. My daughter was born out of love. When she was taken from me..." She paused, looking away briefly. "As a mother, I clung to hope, because hope needs no reality—only belief. When she came back… and you returned her contract for nothing… I thought the scriptures were true. That saints walked among us again. That there was truth in the old tales." Her voice faltered near the end.

I reached out and touched her hand. She gave me a wan smile, quickly looking away to rub her eye.

When I let go, it seemed to encourage her to continue.

"During the five years you were gone, Zariyah changed. At first, it was gradual, but then the changes came faster and faster. She was always willful, and I allowed her much, but she… she did so many things." Naira hesitated, as if dredging up a painful memory. "There were perversions among them. Acts of madness, too many to name. I won’t bore you with their details… but she often declared she was no longer grounded by the words of men, written or spoken, as if that justified her actions. That she was truly free…"

Her shoulders shook as she spoke, and my heart ached for her. On some unconscious level, I understood the weight of her words.

"I cannot be blamed—"

"You misunderstand me," she interrupted. "I could never blame you. You did what was good and right. No one, no matter their claims, truly knows the song of Mana. But I fear that in my daughter's fate, there is a warning for you," she said softly, her broken smile trembling.

Her last words were nearly inaudible, like whispers carried away by the wind. I was too distracted by the curve of her lips and the tilt of her exotic eyes to fully hear them.

“Now tell me of daughter’s fate,” she asked solemnly.

And so I gave my rehearsed tale. I knew from her expression that she knew that I was obfuscating and clouding the truth in parts. I believed, however, that Naira allowed me to continue, knowing that I was trying to protect her rather than trying to deceive her outright.

When I finished my tale, the older woman regarded me with red, grief-filled eyes, fresh tears threatening to spill. “Thank you again,” she said softly. “My daughter was consumed by her Path. It was as I feared, though no less tragic for it. To think she became a Djinn…” Her voice faltered, heavy with sorrow. “There is such tragedy in that. With proper guidance, she could have been truly great.”

"I just miss her so much…" she murmured, her voice husky, her eyes brimming with need. "And… and I know you cherished her too," she confessed almost guiltily.

I felt a pang of sympathy within me. My heart ached for her, yes—but so did other parts of me. I was no longer so young that I did not understand what it meant for a woman to visit a man’s room alone. And, had I been the weak, callow youth I was before coming to this new world, I might have offered a banal, hollow reply meant to comfort her. Instead, I gave an immoral answer. One that served my immediate desires.

I pulled the older woman close, intent on savoring her as I once had her daughter. There was a certain symmetry in it, I thought, as my lips found hers.

Her fists beat futilely against my chest in weak protest, her voice trembling as she tried to tell me to stop. I ignored her, intent on only having a measure of selfish satisfaction. Consent was not always asked with words, but taken with action.

Not a single court in the land would find fault in my action.

But her resistance faltered. My hands, licentious and deliberate, roamed her body with the intent to seduce. With each touch, her protests softened, her resolve slipping away as lust slowly claimed her. A proud widow, I doubt she had known the touch of a man in a long time.

As I forcefully stripped away her clothing, it seemed her inhibitions fell away with them.

*****

“You are still welcome here, come what may,” Naira said coldly, batting away my hands as I tried to reach for her. “But this… this will never happen again.”

She surveyed the marks on her body while dressing, her expression unreadable. I had been a little rough last night—perhaps too rough. However, being a gentleman, I would have stopped if she truly protested.

Fortunately, I had enough sense to cast Heal on her once she fell unconscious.

Even so, the dampness of the sheets this morning suggested she had found some pleasure in it too. To my surprise, in that regard, we were oddly compatible. It does take two to make the beast with two backs, after all.

“But I thought…” I began.

“No, Gilgamesh,” she cut me off, still not looking at me. “Last night was a mistake for both of us. Not one I entirely regret, but a mistake all the same. I trust you’re mature enough to understand.”

She pursed her lips. “You are old enough to be my son… far too young for me.”

“But I am probably old enough to give you one, if that is the measure you use to see a man’s worth,” I shot back already becoming disinterested.

Without a proper rejoinder, the older woman could only shake her head.

The old me would have raged at this perceived injustice. Instead, I only shrugged. After all, I was staying in a brothel where such indulgences were essentially “on tap.” Not to mention, I had already claimed my ‘achievement’ for completing a set as it were.

If I were to compare the two women, Naira had been a bit more excitable, putting up more of a pretend fight than her daughter.

“Whatever, Naira. Do as you wish,” I said, unable to resist a barb. “Like your daughter, you’re a free woman. Send someone to change these sheets later—we made quite the mess.”

She finished dressing with an indignant huff, her hair still in tantalizing disarray in the early morning light. Without another word, she turned and left the room.

Now, I needed to make use of the time Farzan had granted me. Or did I? After working so hard, maybe I deserved a break. Even heroes need respite from the world’s travails, do they not?

Grunting softly, I rose and pulled on a robe. First things first: I would have a bath, wash away the lingering stench of sex, and figure out my next move.

*****

I decided to spend my afternoon indulging in a pastime I’d neglected for far too long: reading. Not only did it provide a blissful respite from my daily concerns, but it also helped fill in knowledge gaps I’d been sorely aware of. In particular, The Fanciful Travels of Beron de Laney proved both entertaining and informative.

If Beron’s writings were accurate, Al-Lazar was about to become very busy indeed. The Mer would soon clash for dominance over the Old City—ancient ruins submerged beneath the waves near Al-Lazar that became accessible as the sea pulled away. The exact origins of their conflict had been swallowed by time, but whenever the tide withdrew, these ruins emerged and drew adventurers in droves to face the “Trials,” this world’s equivalent of dungeons.

Yet, thanks to my own efforts, Al-Lazar’s Adventurers’ Guild now lay in shambles, creating a rather intriguing predicament. I had no personal interest in braving the Old City’s depths, but the potential spoils still tempted me. An evil thought wormed its way into my mind: perhaps I could enlist Larynda’s help.

I went to find her, only to discover she had converted her room into a makeshift Alchemy lab. One of the courtesans had asked for a remedy to heal some bruises, and Larynda was dutifully attempting to brew a Health potion. She promised we would talk later, though I did wish she’d prioritize more pressing matters.

Shortly after leaving her door, I was stopped in the corridor by a somewhat familiar face.

“Apologies, samasa, but you have guests downstairs,” a young girl announced, bowing slightly as she gnawed at her lower lip.

“And you are?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Ninurta, if it pleases you,” she replied, eyes lowered.

She had certainly grown in the five years I had spent in the Dust Dream—her figure filling out in ways that once might have tempted me. I recalled a time when she’d tried to seduce me in the baths, back when I clung desperately to my moral compass in this chaotic world. However, I was, for the moment, sated and decided she was still too young for me. And yet, a guilty part of me acknowledged the tiniest spark of curiosity. I smothered that ember before it could flare.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Send them to my room in a few minutes…”

“B-but, samasa…” she stammered, trying to form a protest. “There are quite a few—”

“How many?”

“Two score at least,” she whispered. “They won’t all fit in any one room.”

“Then have the girl Imani bring two of them upstairs first,” I instructed. “Offer refreshment to the rest. I will see them in due time.”

“It will be done, samasa,” she murmured, clutching the front of her dress.

I nodded in dismissal and returned to my chamber to take stock of my situation.

This world’s ‘system’ had always seemed peculiar to me. Though my maximum Health now exceeded nine hundred, my Stamina barely scraped past a hundred, and my Mana lingered at a mere twenty-three. ‘Mere’ was relative, of course; it still outstripped many of the ‘dedicated’ magic-users I’d come across.

Health, as I’d long known, grew with each level, scaling with both Constitution and Strength. But Stamina and Mana did not increase at all, leaving my resources strangely lopsided. I had just enough Mana to cast Greater Heal twice before running dry, and I suspected I would be casting it often in the coming hours. Fortunately, I still had a few potions—spoils of war and parting gifts from Vincenzio—that might just act as fuel enough to keep me going.

“Samasa.” Imani’s voice reached me from behind, low and breathless as if she half-feared I might turn on her.

I pivoted slowly, refusing to betray any hint of surprise. I had left the door ajar without meaning to, and now the young girl stood in the threshold, flanked by two beggars who clung to her every movement. Though they had tried to make themselves presentable—likely by dousing in one of Al-Lazar’s many public fountains—the rags and grime still clung to them like an unshakable curse.

One man leaned on a pair of crudely fashioned crutches, his back bent as though some giant’s fist had left him crooked for life. The other wore filthy bandages over his eyes, whipcord-thin yet possessed of a rigid, unyielding pride. A cripple and a blind man, come to see the Goddess’s Herald. How fitting.

“The Goddess teaches humility for those who seek Her blessing,” I said solemnly, scanning their ragged forms. “Tell me, gentlemen. Are you believers?”

The cripple tried to straighten beneath my gaze. “I saw what you did for the General. I believe. My name is…” He trailed off, glancing at his companion as if for permission.

But I would not suffer the interruption. “I am Her Herald,” I declared. “And the Goddess cares not for your names, only your obedience. Will you serve?”

The blind man bristled, lifting his chin. “I’ll do whatever you want, so long as I can see again. I’ll even give you gold enough if you are able to heal, which I doubt. I was once a great swordsman—earned my Mantis, I did. ”

I offered him no mercy. “The Goddess cares nothing for your pride. Pride is a sin.”

His mouth tightened. “Who are you to judge us?”

Before I could reply, Imani’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “He is Her Herald!” she spat, her eyes afire. “Harun asked that you be received here; know your place, Zahard.”

“Indeed,” I said with ice in my tone. “See that the next to arrive are more grateful, Imani. These two treat the Goddess’s miracles like transactions. That a miracle can be negotiated for.”

I turned my attention back to the blind man. “Zahard, is it? I doubt you ever deserved any Mantis. When your sight is restored, I’ll show you just how foolish you are.”

A flicker of anger stirred in him, but he said nothing.

“Imani,” I said, “close the door and latch the shutters.”

The cripple frowned. “What is this? You mean to put on a show?” he asked, making lurid gestures.

“Not at all,” I replied, letting a cold smile bleed onto my lips. “This is a lesson. One you are to keep secret. You will speak of what happens here to no one beyond these walls. Swear it.”

They glanced at each other, then shrugged in uneasy unison. “We swear.”

I doubted their sincerity, yet a part of me cared little. Before long, they would believe, truly believe, in me.

As Imani drew the shutters tight, the chamber fell into a hush broken only by the shuffle of bare feet on stone. I called upon Holy Aura, and golden radiance spilled forth to banish the dimness. The cripple’s eyes went wide at the sudden blaze of light. Even Zahard, though blind, stiffened as if he could sense the divine presence creeping over his skin.

“It is the light of the Covenant!” Imani breathed, her voice quivering with religious reverence. “The light of the Goddess…”

Wordless, I strode to the cripple. My hand found his shoulder, and I summoned Greater Heal. A surge of power thrummed through my veins, pressing against the bounds of my Silent Casting. The note of divinity sang in my bones, but I kept it contained by force. A part of me felt that Holy Aura was heightening the spell’s potency.

“I command you to walk!” I cried, casting the cripple’s crutches aside.

He lost his balance and tumbled to the floor, flailing. My lips curled in distaste.

“I command you to walk,” I repeated, more softly this time.

With a trembling breath, he pushed himself upright. His eyes went round with wonderment as he found strength in limbs once broken. Tears—large and womanly—coursed down his cheeks. He staggered forward and clutched at my trouser leg as if I were the last piece of driftwood in a storm-tossed sea.

“Thank you, Samasa,” he sobbed. “I was not worthy, I was struck by—”

I felt my stomach roil at his close proximity.

“The Goddess cares not for your past,” I said, cutting off his story before my stomach could turn further. “Only that you serve. Will you?”

He bowed his head. “I will serve, Herald.”

The blind man, Zahard, stood rigid, doubt etched in every line of his face. He would believe only when he beheld the light with his own eyes.

I approached him, and he recoiled slightly—yet that subtle shift told me he felt my presence. I invoked Greater Heal once more, pressing my palm against his brow. He was unworthy, I knew, but the Goddess was merciful—and I needed more willing tools.

“I command you to see,” I intoned, funneling every drop of divine might into him. Again, I felt my Silent Casting barely able to contain the spell’s force.

A notification flickered across my mind’s eye:

You have learned Silent Casting (lvl.4)

With a devilish grin, I tore away his ragged bandages. “I command you, open your eyes and see!”

The man’s eyelids fluttered, then shot open wide. Like the cripple, he, too, wept at the miracle—weak and broken, a pathetic creature trembling at the sight of true power.

He babbled his thanks, flinging praises upon me until I could scarcely stand to listen. In time, Imani and I herded them both from the room, their voices still trailing like dogs eager for scraps.

Taking a quick breath, I reached for a Mana potion, swallowing it in a single gulp and feeling the vigor flood my body, filling reserves that had been nearly depleted. The sensation teased at a discovery: my Mana Regeneration not only quickened the natural flow of my magic, it seemed to magnify what I could glean from potions as well. A theory to test another day.

“Give me one turn of a glass,” I told Imani, my voice cool, “then send up the next unworthy souls. And have that pair report to Harun. Tell Harun to prepare his new men for a great task. The Goddess demands it.”

She bowed so low her hair nearly brushed the floor. “As you command, Herald.”

Share