Underland - Chapter 37: The Forgotten Saint

Hi there Underlanders,

A very important notice for next month. Some of you may not know, but one of my webnovels, Vainqueur the Dragon, is receiving a webtoon adaptation that will be out on Tapas at the end of March. With the incoming release, my work schedule is getting tighter for that month.

Currently, I am publishing two stories at once: Underland and Kairos: A Greek Myth LitRPG. Each of them receive two chapters a week for a total of four chapters. Due to the incoming Vainqueur webtoon release and with both of my stories approaching their final arcs on Patreon, I’ve decided to reduce that total to three chapters a week to better focus on the webtoon’s release; a Patreon poll was held this week-end to decide how I would adjust the publication schedule.

So starting with next week/March, Underland’s update schedule will move to one chapter a week on Thursday; at least until I complete Kairos on Patreon, after which I’ll fully focus on Underland with three chapters a week until it finishes. I wish I could duplicate and keep the current schedule, but that’s the best alternative I’ve found.

Best regards,

Voidy.

The cavern could shelter an army, and yet it was barely large enough to house the monster.

When Lord Bethor summoned his students for the raid into Derro territory, Valdemar had expected to travel on foot or on the back of giant beetles. A subtle, discreet infiltration into enemy lands. But of course, Lord Bethor didn’t do anything subtle.

“This is the Excavator,” the Dark Lord explained as he waved a hand at the biomechanical titan in front of them. “The spear that will pierce the Derro Kingdom’s hide.”

And what a spear it was. The creature reminded Valdemar of a gargantuan centipede, albeit one nearly half a kilometer in length and as thick as a fortress. Although the lower half of the body had chitinous legs and a carapace, the upper parts had been replaced with a thick mechanical shell. Instead of a face, the chimera’s head ended with the biggest, most complex drill mechanism Valdemar had ever seen. Hydraulic mechanisms supported the entire apparatus while chimneys let out vapors at the creature’s tail.

“It’s a living fortress,” Marianne whispered as she noticed reinforced doors and stained windows on the upper parts of the centipede allowing entrance into its interior. A horde of undead workers and golem engineers welded the finishing touches on the shielding.

The Knights of the Shroud, Lord Bethor’s personal knightly order, stood watch over the Excavator. Each and every one of them was a mighty undead warrior clad in imposing black armor, with a crimson gaze piercing through their closed visors. Their helmets ended in a crown of spikes and each of them carried a Soulbound weapon of some kind. Most of them wielded short swords adapted to fighting in enclosed spaces, but a few specialists had settled for axes and polearms. As the empire’s elite fighting force, they deserved the best equipment Azlant had to offer.

Death rides with us, Valdemar thought as he remembered the order’s infamous motto. Death has come to the Derro Kingdom.

Valdemar and Marianne had come equipped as well. Lord Bethor, perhaps to congratulate his students on ‘graduating,’ had given them new clothes woven with protective spells: a red hooded cloak in the style of the Pleroma Institute for Valdemar and slim leather armor for Marianne. The latter had also received the Soulbound revolver she asked for, a handheld gun with three black barrels and a bone handle.

“Ktulhu,” Valdemar’s familiar said in his bag. The welders’ tools warmed up the cavern, and he didn’t like the temperature. “Ktulhu.”

“It will be cooler inside,” Valdemar replied. Or at least he hoped so. The Mask of the Nightwalker on his face gave him fresh air, but he didn’t think that letting Ktulu try it would be a good idea. Two Strangers interacting might have unforeseen consequences.

“I’m sure my old apprentice prepared some refreshments for the trip,” a familiar voice mused to Valdemar’s side. Lord Och’s sudden appearance surprised neither Valdemar nor Marianne. By now, they had grown perceptive enough to sense him teleporting in their midst. “I see your biomancers outdid themselves, Lord Bethor. Are you sure you want to unveil it now?”

“It is a calculated risk,” the younger Dark Lord replied to his master while Marianne politely bowed before Och. Valdemar himself simply crossed his arms and listened in silence. “I do not expect to reach the capital before the Derros figure out a counter, but we should storm the city-fortress of Stahlstadt. Otto Blutgang left General Stahlherz to garrison it, but his forces will be no match for me.”

Cavern warfare was long, tedious and difficult. Unlike the colossal domains, most of Underland’s caves and tunnels were low and narrow; advancing meant moving from one choke point to another, each of them bitterly contested.

So Lord Bethor had found a novel alternative. Instead of disputing existing tunnels with Derro garrisons, he would create a new pathway for his army.

Still, when the Dark Lord had spoken about launching a ‘punitive expedition,’ Valdemar had expected a small raid instead of a full blown military offensive. The summoner guessed that Lord Bethor had higher standards than most as far as violence was concerned.

“I will drop you on the designated area midway through our advance,” Lord Bethor said as he observed his troops boarding the centipede’s inside through a metal ladder. “I trust you shall be able to return to civilization on your own, my old teacher.”

“Of course,” the lich replied with a chuckle before gazing at Marianne and his apprentice. “Will you be strong enough to guard a feeble old man like me?”

Valdemar shrugged, refusing to play his teacher’s game. Marianne, however, simply glanced at Lord Bethor.

“I said you would either count among the empire’s best mages or obituaries,” Lord Bethor said. “I did not lie. You are now adequate battlemages by my standards. There is still much for you left to learn, but you will prove sufficient.”

It sounded almost like a compliment too.

Though he believed he wouldn’t be so lucky, Valdemar hoped they wouldn’t face too much opposition. Lord Och’s goal was to investigate the region where his grandfather first appeared in Underland in an attempt to either locate a potential Pleromian portal or find out if the Derros had discovered interplanar transport technology. Valdemar and his group would tag along with Lord Bethor’s expedition until they reached this place and then split off to do some archeological digging.

Of course, the Derros wouldn’t take an intrusion into disputed territory lying down and would fight back.

“Such a shame we will have to leave before your friends visit Sabaoth, my apprentice,” Lord Och said as they moved towards the ladder to board the Excavator. “But with diligence, we shall return in time to meet with them.”

Valdemar looked forward to it. It felt like a lifetime ago since he last met with Liliane, Hermann, Iren, and the others. “If I may ask,” the summoner asked his mentor. “Has there been news on the Beast Plague front?”

“There has been a rise of incidents and a few outbreaks across the empire, but nothing we couldn’t contain,” Lord Och replied evasively. “However, it appears the Verney cult’s new headquarters is located somewhere near Ariouth.”

“Lord Phaleg’s Domain?” Marianne asked with a frown as she climbed the iron ladder first. Of course the cult would take refuge in the part of the empire most hostile to Lord Och.

“Now, you’re seeing my issue,” Lord Och replied. “I am sure my old apprentice has little awareness of what’s happening under his nose, as he keeps it buried too deeply in his books. Unfortunately, to avoid a potential and costly conflict between us, we will have to address the subject on neutral ground.”

“The Dark Lords’ Sabbath,” Valdemar guessed as he climbed after Marianne. The ladder led to an open blast door giving way to a warm metal chamber. Ticking clocks and alchemical devices covered the walls, while pipes transported blood to the beast’s organic parts and oil to its artificial ones. Valdemar noticed many other cluttering contraptions. Although he didn’t understand what half of them did, he did recognize some repurposed Derrotech.

“Yes.” Lord Och, unlike his student, simply teleported inside the metal room. What a show off. “Young Aratra will host us all in her palace, we shall raise a toast to the new year, decide which cavern we will invade, and then settle the Verney question.”

The wording sent a chill down Valdemar’s spine. “My question, you mean?”

“Hagith put your case on the agenda,” Lord Bethor said gruffly as he teleported into the chamber. The blast door started closing behind him, the beast preparing to ‘take off.’ “Aratra will almost certainly summon you and Reynard for an audience.”

And much like his old master, Lord Bethor dared to call the empress of Azlant by her name without any honorifics.

“Her Majesty?” Marianne didn’t hide her discomfort. “But I was disgraced.”

“Young Aratra’s attention is fleeting like mist,” Lord Och mused. “I suspect she had long forgotten you before Young Hagith mentioned your name.”

This didn’t sit well with Valdemar. Lord Bethor and Och clearly knew about Ialdabaoth’s true nature, so he had to assume the other Dark Lords did so as well. Some might wish to exploit the situation to their advantage, but others would probably rather choose caution over ambition.

And Valdemar’s head would be on the line.

The chamber trembled as its devices thrummed and the ground shook beneath their feet. Valdemar almost stumbled as a quake spread through the structure, Marianne catching him by the arm to help him stand upright. Muffled noise echoed through the machinery as the drill activated and started digging into the stone skin of Underland.

Valdemar closed his eyes and activated his Psychic Sight, analyzing the biomechanical Excavator through the flowing blood. From the presence of surgical scars all across the body, the biomancers and engineers of Sabaoth had cultivated the creature until it had reached its adult size. They had then removed its intestines, brain, and glands before replacing them with technological and alchemical replacements. Even most of the blood circulation system was now mostly made of iron pipes.

Valdemar marveled at the effort it took to grow and modify this thing in secret. Lord Bethor’s spellcasters must have spent years working on this project, and no hint of it ever reached the outside world.

Lord Bethor took his leave at this moment to move up to the machine’s command center while ordering Knights of the Shroud to escort his ‘guests’ to their quarters. When Valdemar prepared to go with Marianne, Lord Och stopped him. “Young Valdemar, please be kind and entertain me on our journey,” the lich rasped before glancing at Marianne. “I am sure your bodyguard won’t mind.”

Marianne frowned, but accepted the dismissal with dignity. “Is there a room where I can practice my shooting?” she asked a Knight and received confirmation. “Then I will retire there for the moment. See you later, Valdemar.”

“See you soon,” he replied as he watched her vanish into the iron corridors of the Excavator. Valdemar struggled to explain why, but he felt diminished without her nearby. He had grown used to her presence lately, almost as much as Ktulu.

“Do not look so fraught with disappointment, my apprentice,” Lord Och said as Knights guided them through the maze of pipes and corridors. Everywhere engineers worked tirelessly to keep the machinery running. “I may not be a noble maiden, but I can be good company.”

“Will you cut off my arm if I say I preferred Marianne’s company?” Valdemar deadpanned.

“Are you bitter about your training? Lord Bethor was right then, I coddled you too much.”

The Knights of the Shroud introduced them to what Valdemar believed to be Lord Och’s private quarters: a large lounge containing couches, cushions, and bookcases filled to the brim with texts. Knowing his old master’s true nature, Lord Bethor had scoured the chambers of basic amenities like a kitchen or bathrooms. A vast stained window embedded in a wall allowed the occupants to see the world outside.

“Lord Bethor set up these quarters just for me,” the lich declared as he sat on the couch, the knight closing the door behind Valdemar. “He knows my tastes in books as well. I have already read most of them, but it is the thought that counts.”

The fact that the utilitarian Dark Lord of Sabaoth had set up a room inside his superweapon spoke volumes about the esteem in which he held his old master. From the way Lord Och himself spoke of his apprentice, Valdemar guessed they were probably as close to ‘friends’ as creatures like them could be.

“Is it true that a lich’s memory is foolproof?” Valdemar asked as he opened his bag and let Ktulu out. His familiar glanced warily at Lord Och before becoming fascinated with the world outside the window. The Excavator melted stone as it advanced, leaving fiery marks on the tunnels outside.

“It is. Though it may take me a while to remember details.” Lord Och glanced at his student’s shadow. Valdemar sensed his hidden Haunter growing uneasy with the lich’s attention, like a predator sensing the gaze of another. “I am very pleased with your progress. Your skills have sharpened, and you have taken many leaps into understanding the true nature of our world.”

Valdemar’s thoughts turned to the Outer Darkness, and the horrors he had witnessed within it. “My teacher, I would like to discuss facts that I have uncovered.”

“You wonder if a Stranger will eat your soul after you die?”

It’s not my soul I fear for, Valdemar thought, shivering at the mere idea of his mother finding herself trapped in that screaming vortex of souls. “Please, my teacher.”

Lord Och scoffed. “Shouldn’t you know already what happens to the dead? You worked for years to try to bring back your grandsire’s soul from the beyond.”

“I did, but no one knows what awaits beyond the Veil between life and death.” Valdemar turned to glare at his mentor. “Or if they know, they aren’t telling.”

“The Church of Light tells everyone the way to absolution,” the lich replied mockingly. “It is your fault if your faith is lacking, Young Valdemar.”

His student glared back at his teacher, but did consider his words. Was the old lich suggesting that the Church of the Light had a point?

As he had told Lady Mathilde in Pleroma, Valdemar had never been truly religious nor believed in the cult. He did, however, know the basic tenets of the faith. “The Light will return to Azlant and the Whitemoon shall be banished once the world is free of sin,” he quoted the Scriptures of the Church. “Only by believing in the Light and dedicating ourselves to it will our souls find comfort. Those who do not believe will be cast into the darkness, where they shall wander for all—”

Valdemar froze. Cast into the darkness? As in, the Outer Darkness?

Lord Och’s skeletal grin only confirmed his hypothesis. “What do you know about the Church of the Light?” the lich asked his apprentice.

“That it was the successor of the sun-worshiping religions of the old world,” Valdemar replied with a frown. “It was an underground but popular cult until Empress Aratra made it the official religion and banned the Stranger Cults. And of course, the Church and the Dark Lords go hand-in-hand.”

“It is true that the first believers of the religion were members of the sun-priests of the surface,” Lord Och said with a chuckle. “But the true origin of the faith comes from another source entirely.”

The ancient archmage joined his fingers together, his empty eye sockets flaring with ghostly light.

“Have you ever heard,” he asked with a gleeful tone, “of the tragedy of Sophia the Unwise?”

Ktulu’s head briefly perked up at the name, but the familiar quickly focused back on the window. Valdemar took note of his reaction, though he himself had never heard the name. “No, I have not.”

“It is a very old legend going back to when the sunlight still shone on the surface and humans knew nothing of the Blood. We lived in ignorance, blindly worshiping the sun above our heads. And yet, this Sophia is the one who laid the foundation of the Church of the Light, the Empire of Azlant, and the exodus underground.”

Lord Och patted a cushion, silently inviting his student to sit and listen. Valdemar obeyed without a word, knowing that his master truly wanted an audience.

“Sophia was a saint, a holy woman with miraculous powers,” Lord Och explained with a deep, wise tone. He was an experienced storyteller, with the perfect voice to match. “Everywhere she went, she preached a new, unconventional faith. She claimed that our planet was the creation of a vile deity of flesh and matter. A spawn of chaos cast down from a higher reality alongside its brethren and lured to sleep by powerful wards.”

“She meant Ialdabaoth?” Valdemar interrupted his master, unable to suppress his curiosity. “But if it has brethren—”

“You have already met one, my student. It even commissioned you a portrait.”

The Silent King?

Valdemar remembered his confrontation with the Stranger. As he had climbed the stairway to the Silent King with Hermann, he had briefly glimpsed a colossal entity inside that world’s black sun. Now that the summoner thought of it, he could see the similarities with Ialdabaoth’s sunlike siphon of souls.

Why would the Silent King call Valdemar an abomination though, if they were related? Was that because he was the child of two worlds? An unnatural occurrence?

There is a war in heaven.

Or maybe the Strangers simply didn’t get along. They might share a common origin, but their objectives and nature varied wildly. The Silent King seemed content to serve as a curator of dead civilizations, while Ialdabaoth yearned to break free to devour its progeny.

“These… Strangers to our reality… had created life in this universe to serve and worship them,” Lord Och continued his tale. “Our very bodies were prisons of matter. Only our souls could truly hope to break free by casting away their worldly desires and attachments. Otherwise, they would return to their progenitor, to be consumed and reincarnated anew.”

Was the Dark Lord suggesting that a soul could escape the Outer Darkness through spiritual strength? Though he didn’t buy into the faith parts of the religion, Valdemar guessed it made sense. If life could create the Primordial Dream to shield itself from the Qlippoths, it meant that Ialdabaoth’s power was not absolute.

If one compared the Outer Darkness to a whirlpool, then a powerful enough soul could perhaps swim away to freedom… but where would it end up then?

“But how would Sophia know that?” Valdemar asked in skepticism. “No one’s returned from beyond the Veil yet. Even ghosts simply never passed on in the first place.”

“A wise question,” Lord Och replied. “Sophia pretended to be one of the entities that banished the progenitor from the higher realms. These beings were emanations of a cosmic Light, the masters of the spiritual, but they could not manifest their full power in the material world where the Strangers ruled as kings. Sophia, who had taken pity on her enemy’s creations, thus incarnated into a woman of flesh and blood. Her goal was to free us from this cycle of suffering before a terrible disaster came from the skies to wipe us all out.”

A story that was, of course, completely unverifiable… but a true scientist couldn’t disregard any possibility, and the tales’ implications were fascinating. “She had predicted the Whitemoon’s arrival?” Valdemar asked.

“She did, long before astronomers confirmed its arrival in our solar system.”

“It doesn’t mean much,” Valdemar replied. “She could have been a normal mage with precognitive abilities, or someone influenced by a Stranger. They tend to gather cults around themselves.”

“Many doubted her as you did, but as the Whitemoon approached her words received much credibility. In times of despair, men instinctively look for a savior. But you are correct. Sophia was a sorceress, and in her quest she gathered disciples and taught them many things. And here…”

The lich chuckled darkly.

“Comes the Unwise part.”

By now, Valdemar had learned enough of human history to guess where this was going.

“Sophia taught her disciples secrets of the universe and knowledge of magic,” Lord Och explained. “She preached that by delving into the higher mysteries, meditation, oneness, and letting go of worldly fetters, mortal souls could free themselves from the shackles of this world and ascend with her to the Light. She believed so much in humans’ potential for good, that she became blind to their darker nature.”

At this point, Ktulu walked back to Valdemar and made noise. The summoner put the familiar on his lap so he could listen to the tale. “They turned on her, didn’t they?” Valdemar guessed.

“Shush, be patient…” Lord Och hushed him as he continued his story. “Optimism is like a rock on a shore, Young Valdemar. It is strong, but as it is battered by waves after waves of ingratitude, cowardice, and treachery, it grows brittle. As she watched people abuse her knowledge, suffered the ruling class using her as a scapegoat for all the world’s ills, and despaired as her followers committed crimes in her name, the prophet’s resolve wavered.”

Of course. The lich loved cynical morals to a story.

“When the Whitemoon came to cleanse this world of life, Sophia lost faith in mankind and prepared to return to the Light with her believers. Everyone who didn’t follow her teachings had condemned themselves to a cruel fate at this point, or so she thought. Her worshipers were all happy to follow her plan…”

The lich raised seven fingers.

“Except for seven of her disciples.”

Ktulu looked at the lich’s hand with rapturous attention, and Valdemar listened with attention. He had already put the two and two together. No way, he thought as he examined his undead mentor, but if so that means…

“Why?” Valdemar asked. “Why did they refuse paradise?”

“Because they wished to save the world and all its inhabitants,” Lord Och replied with surprising gravitas. “Led by a charismatic noblewoman, they begged Sophia to teach them how to repel the Whitemoon. The Unwise Saint, who believed that attachment to this hopeless world would only delay their spiritual ascension, denied them. And so, feeling betrayed, the seven disciples conspired against their benefactor.”

The lich raised a hand and mimicked strangling an invisible neck.

“Together, they committed an unspeakable crime against Sophia in an attempt to steal her knowledge.” Lord Och’s skeletal face was the perfect picture of the cold embrace of death. “A sin that forever barred them from ascending to the Light. If we have been condemned to eternal darkness, their ringleader said, then we shall rule over it.”

“Ktulu!” Ktulu cheered, as he really seemed to like this part very much. “Cthulhuhu!”

Valdemar himself listened in silence. The bored, clinical way his mentor recounted the deed was more chilling than any threat.

“In the end, the Whitemoon came anyway and forced mankind underground,” Lord Och shrugged as if discussing the weather. “The seven disciples used their knowledge to lead their kind, while the teachings of their late master were preserved in a lesser form. Some holy souls did manage to escape their progenitor’s grasp, as Sophia had wished. The others were either devoured, lost in the darkness, or bound to this world. Some of the seven betrayers died only to be replaced, while others endured across the centuries.”

The Dark Lord finished his tale with a wicked grin. “And all lived unhappily ever after.”

Ktulu clapped with childish enthusiasm. Valdemar himself was at loss of words, his mind busy processing the implications of this dark tale.

“Now,” his mentor relaxed on his cushion. “What lesson is there to take from this story?”

Valdemar considered his words carefully. “May I answer your question with another?”

“Only if it is a good one.”

“How did you go from trying to save the world and its inhabitants,” Valdemar examined the Dark Lord from head to toe, “to this?”

The lich’s ominous silence turned even Ktulu quiet. The room grew colder, with chilly mist rising from Lord Och’s eye sockets.

“I should cut out your tongue for your insolence, but I find your boldness somewhat refreshing. I shall let it slide this once.” The Dark Lord joined his hands. “Your mistake is to believe that I have changed. I have not. I have grown wiser and older and more powerful, but I was always like ‘this.’”

“Then you embellished your tale,” Valdemar replied. “Though your methods remain questionable; your goal was noble and you truly wanted to save people. Now you care nothing for your own kind.”

“My goal was to save the world, but not for the reasons you think.” The lich glanced at the window and the stone walls beyond it. “I never sought salvation, Valdemar. It was freedom from the rules that govern this universe that I craved. In truth, I detest all overlords, whether they are wise or not. When one said I should either sacrifice the world to achieve paradise or vice-versa, I asked ‘why’ and decided I would have it my way. I would have it all.”

“But you failed to do either,” Valdemar pointed out. “You couldn’t save the world and you couldn’t achieve paradise.”

“True, but you misunderstand the story’s lesson. It is not that I couldn’t succeed, but that I wasn’t prepared enough.”

How humble. But it took a certain kind of bleak determination to remain unrepentant after so many centuries. Valdemar didn’t feel an ounce of remorse in his mentor’s old bones.

The summoner replayed the story in his head and tried to read between the lines. The ‘noblewoman’ Lord Och had mentioned was almost certainly Empress Aratra. The co-conspirators were the original Dark Lords, who had fallen and been replaced across the centuries. As for Sophia…

“What happened to Sophia?” Valdemar asked, more questions flowing out of his mouth one after the other. “What was the unspeakable crime you committed? Was she truly a higher being? If so, how could you even fight her at all? What is the nature of this Light? Is it another Stranger? How much of this story was true? Did you embellish some parts?”

The lich’s teeth morphed into an ugly smile, and Valdemar understood he would get no answer today.

“Now that you heard this tale, apprentice,” the Dark Lord whispered. “Do you hate me for my choices?”

“I would have fought for this world too,” Valdemar replied grimly. “If you had succeeded, you could have saved us all, so I cannot condemn you. Still, I think you could have chosen another way. There had to be another option.”

His mentor let out a sound that could pass for a sigh. “I told myself the same,” he confessed. “But alas, there were none.”

“I don’t believe it,” Valdemar replied. “Impossible is but a word. I do not hate you, nor do I believe you haven’t changed in the years since.”

Valdemar might be wrong, but he had the feeling that the old lich was trying to convince himself rather than his apprentice.

“I truly wonder how long your naïveté will resist the test of time,” Lord Och replied with a hint of disappointment. “I have seen prophets cast down by friends and families. The waves of human nature break even the strongest resolve.”

Valdemar shrugged. “I told you, my teacher. I won’t become like you.”

Realizing it was hopeless, Lord Och changed the subject. “But to go back to your question about souls, I wouldn’t worry about your maternal family. Whether his humanity descend from another Stranger or resulted from our progenitor seeding another world long ago, your grandsire was so distanced from Ialdabaoth that he could not feel the Blood’s call. Hence, his soul probably passed on to the Light or somewhere else. With luck, your mother was in the same situation.”

With luck? That wasn’t very reassuring. “How can you be so sure, my teacher?”

“Because Ialdabaoth would have used her soul to torment you, instead of sending a Lilith imitation,” Lord Och replied bluntly. “Any fool can see using her as a hostage would have ensured your cooperation.”

“That’s what you would have done if you could?” Valdemar guessed with a snort. What kind of cold logic was that? The one a Qlippoth would use, he thought grimly. Since he couldn’t contact his mother’s soul for answers, he had to pray that his teacher was right and that she passed on safely. “But if they didn’t end up devoured by Ialdabaoth, then where did their souls go?”

“This is a question to which I have no answer. Take it as an encouragement to continue your studies.”

Still, on the question of souls… if Lord Och had been honest about his story, the authenticity of which Valdemar couldn’t verify… then he had probably turned to lichdom to avoid the Outer Darkness and eternal damnation.

Which begged the curiosity of what phylactery he had chosen. Somehow, Valdemar had the intuition its nature was connected to this story.

In more ways than one, Lord Och had given him a window into his soul.