Published at 9th of September 2025 12:33 pm

Book 5: Chapter 19 Duties of State [Part 1]

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“I have spent countless hours in tireless study, poring over ancient tomes and conducting experiments beyond number, all to discover why those blessed with sharper wits wield deeper wells of Mana. The answer, in the end, was disarmingly simple and strangely elegant: a portion of the mind must remain ever at work, ceaselessly sorting through the shifting tides and hidden eddies of that boundless Chaos we call Mana.”

- Excerpt from the private notes of Master Bertrand, University of Quas.

For the next week, a steady stream of petitioners filled my makeshift sanctuary—men and women alike, wide-eyed and desperate, begging for miracles as though I were some ancient legend stepped from the pages of their holy books. It was almost comical how easily I could barter their unwavering devotion for a mere ten Mana. Over and over, I cast Greater Heal, mending broken bodies and easing long sickness. Gifting them with my gentle gold. To them, I was a saint come to life. I do believe that I had the beginnings of a cult.

I had never believed in gods as these people did. From my experience, deities were simply incredibly powerful beings—impressive, yes, but hardly omnipotent or infallible. Yet here I was, performing small wonders and drawing followers like moths to a flame. The irony was not lost on me.

Some of my new flock debated amongst themselves whether I was Her Prophet or Her Herald. I cared little for their squabbling; they were all wrong, and it hardly mattered so long as their loyalties lay with me.

“General” Harun, however, was relentless in his quest for guidance, pestering me daily for a grand purpose. Once an atheist, his newfound zeal was almost overwhelming. I kept him waiting, if only to buy myself time to craft the right task for someone so fervent. If he wanted to take up arms for the Goddess, I had no objection; the only question was where to aim him.

Meanwhile, Larynda served as my alchemist-in-training, supplying Mana potions of varying potency—products of dubious experimentation that my Constitution, fortunately, could withstand. Using my old donkey for transport, she sourced her bizarre ingredients from the reopened Grand Bazaar—now called by some the “Djinn’s Folly”—and though her concoctions sometimes left me a little queasy, I felt certain she would refine her craft eventually. And, it was good that she gave Patches some exercise.

Now, as I prepared for a more formal visitor, I found myself in a small backroom, a place meant for private meetings. A low table was set with delicate refreshments and a pot of tea. Deciding that a touch of intimidation might prove useful, I wore my full armor, its metal plates adding weight to the wooden chair beneath me until it seemed on the verge of collapse. My serpent’s helm I left on the table, a martial statement.

At last, the guest arrived. He was a tall, willowy man, forced to bow his head slightly just to pass through the doorway. His beard—long, immaculate, and threaded with white and gray—framed a face that showed years of experience rather than frailty. His eyes were keen and clear, though he leaned on a walking stick for support. This, I assumed, was Aelayah’s new Steward and Vizier.

Behind him was Farzan, dressed in the resplendent ceremonial armor of his office. He offered me a quick, knowing nod and the briefest of smiles before slipping into a seat.

I studied the Steward, wondering if the staff he clutched was a sign of physical weakness or merely an implement of authority. Regardless, I was ready to discover what sort of man Aelayah had entrusted with this newfound power—and how it might prove useful to me.

“This is Aelayah’s Vizier and steward,” Farzan announced, gesturing to the older man.

“The name is Idris Baz, at your service, revered samasa,” the old man said with a polite bow. “The Sultana sends her gratitude for your true and faithful service.”

“Her exact words?” I asked, snorting softly in disbelief.

Idris offered a taut, carefully measured smile. “Perhaps not verbatim. Sultana Aelayah the First… has been indisposed as of late.”

“She’s been sequestered to her quarters for her own good,” Farzan added bluntly, earning him a sharp look from Idris. “Erratic doesn’t even begin to describe her behavior of late. We’re fairly certain she’s gone quite mad.”

“Unsubtle though Farzan may be, he speaks closer to the truth than I’d prefer,” Idris murmured with a frown. “But for now, that is neither here nor there…”

“Neither here nor there?” I echoed, my anger sparking. “She tried to have me killed. My sword arm is the only reason she holds this city in the first place.”

Idris inclined his head, pouring tea for us both. “No one denies your prowess, Tamkar Gilgamesh. However, I’m not here on Aelayah’s behalf, but rather in representation of the new Sultanate.”

“And how exactly is that any different?” I asked with a smirk, narrowing my eyes.

“We must do what’s best for Salahaem,” he replied, his tone pointedly vague. “And for Al-Lazar.”

Farzan braced his armored hands on the table. “Speak plainly, Idris. Stop dancing around the old Jenah tree and just say it.”

The old man exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. “It means Aelayah is Sultana in name only. That’s for the best, truly. We hold the real power.”

I drummed my fingers on the table, letting the rhythmic tap convey my growing irritation. “And that means what, exactly?”

Idris settled into a more businesslike tone. “Before her… affliction, there were several initiatives she was pursuing for the good of the city—most notably, a peace treaty with the Mer.”

“Go on.”

“That treaty is essential for Al-Lazar’s future. We need access to the sea again…”

I waved him on, signaling my impatience.

“With or without Aelayah, the treaty process must continue. We must have peace. And, in her current state, well… we simply cannot let her near the reins.”

I shrugged nonchalantly and picked up a sliver of fruit. “Then tell me exactly who ‘we’ is, or this discussion ends here,” I warned, my voice taking on a sharper edge.

“Senior members of the Salahaem,” Farzan said with a sigh. “Backed by some who served on the old Council of Al-Lazar.”

“I see. So you want peace with the Mer. That should be simple if both sides truly desire it.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Idris cut in. “Just as Al-Lazar isn’t a monolith, neither are the Mer. Some among them reject any treaty because they believe they have us at a clear advantage—and in a way, they do. According to a reliable source, the faction currently in power intends to crush Al-Lazar once the seas recede, bringing their entire military might against us. This won’t be a ceremonial conflict, but a fight with the outright destruction of the city at stake.”

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