[Severed Divinity] 86. Ranking Update

Welco woke with the chiming of tenth bell feeling worse than he had in a century.

For a few minutes, he floated in the waters of his medicinal bath, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then, he sent his shadow puppets forth to take stock of the present situation.

The clan seemed fine. Rank day was in full swing, the clansfolk anticipating the updates that quantified their progress. Many clans didn’t bother to track the ranks and progress of their cultivators and mages. In Welco’s mind, that was a mistake. It bred complacency.

There was nothing better than seeing your rank slip to drive self improvement. Healthy competition was a powerful tool.

After ensuring the clan was okay, he focused his puppets outward. Eldrassin City was also intact. Not exactly surprising given the lack of panic in the clan, but still a relief.

The revelations from the previous night raced through his mind. The queen was alive—in a sense. Clearly weakened, though, and in a child’s form. It was unclear to him if she still possessed the power of a tier four mage or not.

Welco couldn’t help but feel that Isen had tricked him into joining the queen’s side, but he felt exasperation rather than anger. As long as Isen hadn’t literally lied to his face, the queen was still the only one who could give him what he really wanted—a pathway to the fifth tier if he managed to reach the fourth.

Helping her really was in his best interest. Besides, if anyone wanted to truly save Eldrassin City, it would be its founder, would it not? He could be reasonably certain the queen’s intentions were genuine.

Honestly, he’d be feeling pretty good if the queen’s existence were the only new variable introduced. But there was another tier four in the mix, the violet-eyed elf. It would be impossible for Welco not to recognize her.

Yvonne Lehal.

The newest tier four in the Elven Lands, and the only cultivator of her rank. She’d visited Eldrassin city soon after her ascension two hundred years ago, welcomed by fanfare and adulation.

He had no idea why Yvonne was in Eldrassin. All of Welco’s intelligence indicated Shor Mei was hesitant to involve itself in the fallout of Lumina Eldrassin’s death. Was Yvonne here to stabilize the city, representing the interests of Shor Mei, or was she here furthering her own agenda?

Perhaps it was a mix of both. If she was really representing Shor Mei, then he’d be screwed if she uncovered his cooperation with Dray. He’d be even more screwed if she identified him as part of the group that had fought her in the palace.

Speaking of Dray... They’d been trying to contact him. A small letter written in cipher was in his room. He couldn’t read it with his shadow puppet—he’d need to look at it later. He wondered if they knew he’d gone into the palace. He’d covered his tracks well, but if they’d caught wind of the battle between Yvonne and a mysterious figure wielding the queen’s starfire...

There would be questions.

But Dray’s agents weren’t exactly known for their intelligence.

Gods, this is all so complicated, Welco lamented. He could barely spare any attention for the rank day celebration, which was fast reaching its noon climax. His shadow puppets watched from the black supports of buildings as everyone assembled in the main ring.

It was a small crowd, about a third the usual size, filling the ring with room to spare.

Welco rose from the medicinal bath and wrapped a towel around his hair and his waist, proceeding up the steps. He ached terribly, his skin raw and red across his chest, a testament to how close he’d been to meeting his end at Yvonne’s hands.

Kelsina must have heard him and hurried over, greeting him at the top of the stairs. She looked like her usual self, free of injuries, minus her prickly expression.

Welco gave her a sly smile. “You’ve recovered well.”

“What happened?”

“Hasn’t Allezin told you? Or Isen?”

“No.”

Ah, so difficult and unruly were his new partners. “Of course they didn’t.” Welco covered his mouth with a hand, pondering. “Things are messier than we originally thought. I’ll see about bringing you and Jorin into the inner circle so you can be fully briefed.”

“Are you still planning to handle rank day?” she asked.

“Yes.” It wasn’t like it took much time or effort; he didn’t even need to leave the mansion. “Shouldn’t you be in the main ring with Jorin?”

“Regretfully, I was watching the mansion while you recovered,” she said with an overly gracious tone. “Besides, I already know where I stand.”

“A2,” Welco said cheerfully.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Wise patriarch, please enlighten me.” ‘Wise patriarch’ almost sounded sarcastic, even though Welco knew she meant it as a compliment. “Was it because I chose void for the theme?”

Welco chuckled humorlessly. At higher ranks, scores were largely influenced by actions rather than cultivation progress due to the slow-down in quantifiable gains. Who came out on top between Jorin and Kelsina was essentially determined at his discretion.

Kelsina’s dismal choice for the clan theme was absolutely a factor in Jorin’s promotion, not that Welco would admit it. Another factor was the importance of Jorin’s superior soft skills. A lot had happened over the past month, and he’d stepped up to handle people’s concerns and fears while working to ensure the clan’s continued operation without the mages. Kelsina had run more late-night errands for him, but Jorin had helped out in that department as well.

“Who’s to say?” the patriarch said evasively. He excused himself and returned to his bedroom. The noon bell tolled just as he reached his door.

While he got dressed, he let his primary attention drift to the shadow puppet hiding in the main ring. He flexed the spell and the puppet emerged from the shadows, bearing his likeness.

The puppet went through the usual song and dance and grabbed the rankings scroll from Jorin. Sharing the puppet’s vision, he glanced over as the scroll unfurled. The text was written with shadow aspected ink, so the puppet could read it.

Welco noticed Isen’s name at the top of C. Yeah, right. His shadow energy directly manipulated the scroll, moving the boy’s name up to the bottom of B. Many spells were impossible to cast remotely through a shadow puppet, but this one was doable.

With that last-second revision, the puppet launched into reciting the ranks.

Welco stood before the floor length mirror and frowned. He normally wore a locket that hung under his vestments, but it was gone. It had probably crumbled when its enchantment received Yvonne’s attack.

He was relieved that the locket had saved him—he’d spent a small fortune on it. Artifacts that could tank a killing below, at the third tier no less, were nearly priceless. His was supposed to be able to handle multiple tier three blows, as long as they weren’t received all at once, with the ability to recharge over time.

A single, relatively weak tier four attack had reduced it to dust.

His silk undershirt—made from tier three thread—was also missing. It was enchanted to protect his torso from piercing weapons, like daggers and arrows, and poison. In other words, it was an anti-assassin shirt. It wasn’t built to defend against magic.

Welco assumed it had been unsalvageable.

He compartmentalized his anger as he approached the desk and reached for the letter. The cipher was in his drawer, and he pulled it out, his mind quickly decoding the message.

Shadow

Snow falls. Melts. Flows.

A blizzard comes from under.

The devil comes from the south.

The cold embraces shadows.

Welco tapped his fingers on the desk. The Dray sucked at speaking in cryptic verse. Monsters weren’t good at metaphors.

The meaning was clear enough.

The Dray had spotted Devon Aran... and the divine beast from the north was here. Waiting for him.

And Welco still didn’t know if Dray was aware of his betrayal of Celavee when he’d stolen the cosmovault.

He palmed his eyes and shuddered. Then, the moment of weakness passed, a serene smile plastered on his face.

He left his room.

***

Isen felt jarred by his confrontation with Allezin. He just wanted to curl into his bed and rest.

Unfortunately, Clan Femera’s rank day made that impossible. He skirted around the buildings, avoiding conversation, lost in his thoughts.

He almost crashed into Freyan when she suddenly appeared in his path. Next to her was Jorin. The warrior held a bulky scroll.

“Can I help you?”

“Freyan told me something very interesting,” the older cultivator said. The girl averted her gaze, looking obviously guilty. “She said Allezin is awake and roaming the clan.”

Isen narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s been less than an hour. I can’t believe you already told Jorin.”

“Freyan did what a responsible clan member would,” Jorin stated. “She said you both discussed imminent evacuation.”

“I told her that Welco would probably move to evacuate the clan later tonight, after waking up.”

“You never told that to me or Kelsina.”

“I told you to wait until Welco woke to hear from him directly—me and Allezin are only speculating. And regarding Allezin being awake, I had no idea you were unaware of that. Blame him, not me.”

Jorin frowned, then exhaled sharply. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, come with us—it’s nearly time for the rank updates.” He held up the scroll.

Isen fell into stride on Allezin’s other side, pointedly ignoring Freyan.

“I was worried,” she whispered. “It would’ve been reckless not to say something. You’ve only just joined the clan, and Allezin is an outsider.”

Isen sighed. “Just... forget it.”

Just then, the bell tolled. Clansfolk in the vicinity all stopped talking, a hush falling over everything. What followed was a spirited scramble as everyone rushed toward the central ring. Jorin’s steps were unhurried and he fell behind. He’d probably arrive at the ring last, which was possibly the point.

When they were only a short distance away from the gathered crowd of over a thousand cultivators, Jorin motioned them away. “Join your clade.”

Freyan shot off and Isen followed behind her, glancing back to see Jorin cross the final stretch of white sand. She found fourth clade in short order. Isen noticed that Arthum frowned when he saw them arrive together. The other clade members didn’t seem to notice or care, their focus on Jorin and the scroll.

“What were you doing?” Arthum whispered.

Isen and Freyan shared a look. “Nothing,” they said in unison.

Arthum only looked more doubtful. “Okay, then.”

A few seconds later, Jorin reached the center of the ring, where a neat, black platform waited. He stood atop it and cleared his throat.

“Clan Femera!” he roared, his expression serious.

“Clan Femera!” the crowd roared back.

Jorin’s lips quirked into a smile. “Spirited as ever. The patriarch—”

“Greets the clan,” a voice thundered. A shadowy figure appeared from seemingly nowhere, blotting out the sun and casting the assembled clansfolk in darkness.

It’s a shadow puppet, Isen realized. Welco’s awake.

“Clan Femera, greet your patriarch!” Jorin commanded, bowing his head to the towering shadow manifestation.

The resulting cheer was bombastic.

Welco’s shadow puppet shrank down, assuming a human-like appearance. It turned to Jorin, grasped the rank update scroll, and held it up for the crowd. “This is a record of your progress. Traditionally, this scroll will be affixed to the master scroll, the rankings immortalized. This cycle, the updates will be split, mages and cultivators calculated separately. The rank numbers will be amended when the mage and cultivator scrolls are combined. That finalized scroll is what will be affixed to the master scroll.”

Jorin coughed. “The cultivator ranks listed now are based on a projection of the mages’ ranks, and may change later.”

“Exactly,” Welco said. “Remember, rank is but a number. Focus on your own progress relative to how you did in the past. Now, are you ready for the ranks to be unveiled?”

He was greeted by a solemn silence, then, as one voice, the clan responded. “Yes, patriarch.”

“Then I’ll announce them.”

“Announce them?” Isen whispered.

“The ranks of all tier A’s and B’s are read out loud,” Freyan explained. “All the others are just written on the scroll.”

Isen nodded.

“A’s!” Welco began. “My most elite cultivators, I recognize you now. A1, Jorin Femera.” So Jorin had pulled ahead. “A2, Kelsina Femera. A3...”

He said a few more names Isen didn’t recognize, some of them probably mages. In sum, there were only sixteen A’s in the entire clan.

“Are only ranks on the scroll?” Isen wondered.

“Attributes too,” Freyan said. “A simplified version, since the full read out is considered private. The patriarch doesn’t read those out loud, though.”

“B’s!” Welco continued, launching into a list of unfamiliar names. The B’s were much more numerous than the A’s. Isen stopped counting after the hundredth name, zoning out.

He nearly missed it when his own name crossed Welco’s lips. “Isen, B127.”

Isen blinked in astonishment. His expression was mirrored by the rest of fourth clade.

“B!?” Freyan squeaked, her mouth agape. She seemed even more surprised now than she did earlier, when she’d listened in on him and Allezin.

Isen sighed.

Great.