The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 37: Marco XXI

Marco's stiffened expression betrayed his indignation. "Say it again." It was one thing to ask about Lucas, and another thing entirely to involve his mother. At the very least, he never wanted to entangle her in any of this. She was miles away, thriving peacefully now. He knew how much she had suffered and if the exorcist would start digging on her past, all her horrors would come to light once more.

Philip the exorcist peered at him with that calculating gaze of his, as if gauging how far he could push Marco before he snapped. "You are the only one capable of giving me an answer, my young lord. Unfortunately, your mother is a little touchy about the subject, as far as I have witnessed. But you, you know about her sentiments firsthand."

"How do I assure that the information you have is of any significance in the first place?"

"It's about the death of Father Pietro."

"I thought I told you that Lucas is cleared of his involvement in the priest's passing." Nevertheless, Marco knew that that Chapter had not been settled yet, not after Lumen Veritatis failed when he asked Lucas forthright about it.

"Is he? The fruits of my investigation say otherwise. I have invited a talent from Handilen; the Order of Raphael that rules there had employed a most special blessed child who can see beyond time. I brought her to the church in Vermil where the accident happened. And we found something interesting..."

The Light of Truth gave Marco a verdict. Truth.

It was an accident. If whatever they found overruled it, would it even answer Marco's own queries? Should he entrust Philip a knowledge so important in exchange? Why does he even want to know about Mother's loathing for Lucas?

A bard had begun playing on a lute, rendering the tavern quiet as they listened to his song.

"She does not treat him as a son," Marco answered softly amid the tavern's music.

"And the reason being?"

"She claims that I don't have a brother, not anymore. She said Lucas is not hers. She doesn't even see him as a person. For her, he's nothing but an object masquerading as a boy." To Marco, she sounded sick in the head. But she was still his mother, and he knew all too well how she loved him.

"Strange... She says you don't have a brother anymore, care to expound on that?"

"Apparently, the second baby she had was long dead," Marco chuckled at the absurdity of it.

The exorcist, on the other hand, found nothing laughable about it. "The priest was dead before he fell down the stairs," he disclosed in a grave tone, "Rather, he died that's why he fell."

Marco craned closer, "So you're saying it was murder?"

Philip shook his head. "We visited his corpse and, under the Michaelic Order's permission, performed a dissection of his brain. It was burned. The talent from Handilen recognized it as a recoil from the failure of an extremely powerful spell, not a trauma from falling down a staircase. The injury was self-inflicted."

Although he ought to be sad for the priest, Marco felt relieved. "Then, all the more evidence of my brother's innocence."

"He was with the priest an hour before it happened. There must have been a reason why Father Pietro attempted a powerful spell he could not handle. Unfortunately, we did not know where the enchantment was undertaken or my colleague would have beheld the very scene with her gifted eyes. Impressively, the priest was able to walk back to the church with a roasted brain. But he must have been suffering unimaginable pain. It escapes me why he did not seek help immediately."

Perhaps... perhaps because he did not want to incriminate Lucas. They were close, after all. Marco remembered the books in Lucas's room signed in Father Pietro's name. He dragged himself to the stairs and faked his accident there. Yet despite his sacrifice, Lucas was still inevitably involved. Truth seeps through, no matter the veil.

"Now, it's only your brother who has any information what the spell was for and what type of spell it was. It's your turn, my lord, to part the reeds, see what lies beneath. The sooner we know of the place where they used to meet, the better. My colleague's imageries become more fogged the farther she perused into the past. I have ways of making people talk myself, but I think you would not like it for your brother at all." His tone edged on a threat rather than a plea for cooperation.

Marco leaned back. "Now that you have discovered that the cause of death was not murder, are you still going to follow the case?"

"As I've previously told you, his manner of death matters to me not. As far as I'm concerned, the case had totally changed. It's about uncovering your brother's secrets now. I have taken quite a keen interest in the Ghost of Vermil, you see. Do you want me to stop?" He tilted his head, as if in challenge.

I might have a future need of you, Marco thought. "How do I reach you, just in case?"

Philip smirked, a hint of amusement on his otherwise shrewd and cold facade. "I keep a close relationship with the Altare Angelorum. Just tell them my name whenever you want to speak with me."

* * * * *

Marco was about to knock on Lucas's room when he heard a voice inside. Is he talking with someone? Girls weren't allowed to step into the boys' wing of the dormitories. Then perhaps it was a male friend that Marco had not noticed. Is it Professor Hilbury?

"Lucas?" he called as he rapped at the door.

The voices stilled. Footsteps shuffled towards the door. "Marco, what brings you here?" Lucas held the door ajar, clasping his gas lamp to his chest. He must really treasure it.

Marco looked past Lucas and glimpsed the meagre space Lucas afforded him to see. "Can I come inside?"

"Of course."

He scanned the room but found no body. The curtain flapped from the breeze that entered through the open window.

"I heard you talking with somebody," he said.

Lucas headed over to his desk and pulled a text close. "I was reading."

A lie. An absolute lie. Marco swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He sat on Lucas's bed. "That lamp, it seems to me you're very fond of it. You carry it everywhere. In Ashwood, in the Delta. Can you tell your big brother where you obtained it? I'm just curious." At least half a dozen candles lit up Lucas's room but he still kept the lamp lit at night, beside him, always. It must have some other use.

Lucas glanced at the lamp and held it up. "This? The priest gave it to me."

"Is that so? Was it the day he passed?"

"Long before that," he answered wistful.

"Is it an artifact?"

He pursed his lips. "I don't think so." Indeed, Marco did not feel any holy power from it.

Marco heaved a breath, hoping his brother wouldn't evade the question this time. "Brother, remember you said you met with the priest on the day he died, where exactly did you meet him?"

He seemed to ponder it for a second, staring at the flame of his lamp. "It's my secret place."

"Can you let your brother know?"

"There's this abandoned cottage along the Gallagh River," he shared, appearing cheerful. "I can bring you there someday, if you want."

"Then I look forward to it," Marco said. "Come watch my match tomorrow, it's after classes so you don't have an excuse to miss it. And by the way, you ought to know, Apple came to visit you yesterday but you were fast asleep."

It did not take long for the Coliseum to fill with spectators on the day of worship of the Sarim — the seventh on the order of angels.

"It seems the professors, even the director, are here too."

"It's a huge event since the second in rank might change."

"I put my silver on Corlissen. That man's a beast, I tell you."

Marco listened to their voices from the arena. He spotted Catherine and the boys at the front row. He scanned the tiers for his brother. Because perhaps he wore a beret, he was lost in the sea of faces that stared down at Marco.

He had donned a leather doublet in place of the Demach vest. On his chest glared the head of an ox with a pair of crescent horns — the humble yet fierce symbol of his House. On the other side gleamed his number 3 badge.

On the opposite side staggered in Eritch Corlissen in an ochre hunter's garb. He wore a yellow vest flaunting the mythical basilisk that was said to have cut the Pass through the Darkseed Mountains, its venom tainting the once dark rocks a ripe yellow. His gloved hands cupped his hunting scythe twice longer than he was tall, its chains dragging on the sand. The Corlissen suit made it easier to blend in with the rocks that populated the Pass they ruled. But against the grey sand of the Coliseum floor, he was anything but inconspicuous.

Professor Turington decided to preside over the duel this time. He told Marco that owing to his extravagance from their last spar, the stone floor of the Coliseum was replaced with sand.

Better this way, thought Marco. It absorbs blood better and Eritch would not be so hurt.

"Match is ended if either surrenders or is rendered incapable of continuing the fight," the professor explained. "Now, boys, impress us."

Eritch clasped the short snath of his scythe in one hand and the chains of it on the other. "Care to make the first move? You're lower in rank after all."

"Your style favours distance, perhaps it's right for you to attack first," replied Marco, unsheathing the Demonkiller.

Professor Turington scoffed at their taunts, scowling. "Well then, begin!"

"If you say so. INESCAPABLE FATE!" Eritch emitted a faint glow of holy energy which then collapsed into a single thin thread of light that whipped towards Marco.

Imbuing power into his sword, Marco planned to cut it. But the thread of INESCAPABLE FATE was flimsy. And no matter how precisely he tried, it only bent in the wind of his slash. It lassoed itself around Demonkiller, to the gasp of disappointment from the audience.

"Heh, I didn't think it would be so over quickly," Eritch mocked from the far end, planting one foot forward as he swirled his hand back, readying for the throw. FWOOSH! The scythe made a curve in the air, stirring up dust as it went.

INESCAPABLE FATE. Marco knew perfectly well what it was for. As hunters, the Corlissen were bestowed with such blessing for marking their targets. Once the thread had connected, their attacks could not miss. Well, he had no plans of dodging in the first place.

He threw Eritch a smirk before gathering the energy in his sword into a single point at its tip. Then he shot. PLING. The compressed ball of energy knocked the scythe out of its trajectory.

He glimpsed Professor Turington nodding proudly.

Eritch dashed as he pulled back the scythe by the chain, catching it and flinging again almost instantly. Marco was prepared. Another ball of energy was compressed. SWISH. He pointed and let loose.

Just then, the thread of light that still connected him to Eritch lurched aside. The scythe tilted only a little but it was enough to evade his bullet. One of the marble stones glowed as a barrier manifested to absorb the stray ball of energy, protecting the audience.

The scythe might have skewed but it still followed the thread that prevented it from missing. It whirred as it spun in the air, homing for Marco who had no choice but to block with his sword. CLANG. The crescent blade struck with a deafening ring. Then it disappeared right before his eyes, yanked back by Eritch who was poised for another throw.

HEAVENLY GUARD! Marco chose to defend this time. DIVINE PROVIDENCE! A shroud around his body and a barrier in front to break the attack's momentum.

Although stocky, Eritch was far from slow. He had a hunter's agility and swiftness, having trained in the perilous forests of the Darkseed Mountains.

CRACK! Corlissen's weapon shattered the barrier effortlessly. The Guard absorbed most of the impact but the blow threw him a few yards back. He rolled in the sand, sword clutched tightly, the thread of light trailing after him, uncut. From the cloud of dust, another whirring pierced through.

SWOOSH! The scythe that never missed was also relentless. Eritch did not even give him time to breathe. Indeed, he was truly brutal.

Marco propped himself on one knee and parried with Demonkiller. The opponent's weapon slid off the flat of the blade and grazed him by the shoulder. Thankfully, the Guard held up, albeit he was thrown off his feet again.

CLING! With the grating sound of chains, the scythe was pulled back into the cloud. Not a second later, it was pirouetting towards Marco again. CLANG! CLANG! The scythe flew back and forth. Marco strained to defend while Eritch pressed him back to the edge. His weapon was not so simple. It was devised with a mechanism that made it spin in the air even with a chain attached to it. And it was probably imbued with a charm too that instantly overpowered barriers weaker than the holy energy contained in it. If Marco stinted on the divine power he fed to his HEAVENLY GUARD, then it would have been similarly broken as well.

"Stop playing with him!" Catherine's voice boomed over the silence.

With the dust clearing, Eritch stepped forward with his scythe in hand. "Alright, I'll end this now."

"I wasn't talking to you," she bayed.

Marco steadied his feet and exhaled. "Apologies, I was just testing how well the Heavenly Guard can defend against a Corlissen's weapon. But I have seen the results now." He dispelled the shroud that had protected him thus far.

Oliver hooted in amusement from the distance. Eritch's husky face contorted in anger. "You insult me again. I was being merciful to you. I'll etch a scar so deep you'd regret ever stepping into this arena."

"Well, this arena you step on is about to be mine." INVIOLABLE EDICT! Marco burst forth with holy energy, its tendrils burying into the sand. He touched the thread of light that connected him to Eritch and snapped it in two with just a flick of his finger, much to the cheers of the sophomores. Everything Marco touched and everything that touched him submitted to his will.

A mound started to rise up from the ground. Its arm first formed, then its head. Soon, the sand golem towered over the two of them as it stood on two legs made of the floor it was born from.

Eritch leapt back as he launched his weapon again. THUD. It contacted but the shifting sand that was the body of the monster absorbed the impact. It buried there before Eritch yanked it towards him by the chain.

Still scowling, he screamed and threw towards Marco instead even as the thread of INESCAPABLE FATE had been cut. As a hunter, he had a great aim on his own. His weapon drew a crescent in the air that traced around the sand golem. Marco simply stood there, not intending to evade. CHUCK. The golem caught the weapon, but it spun out of its grasp as its sand fingers were sliced off.

The scythe hit the ground beside Marco with a thud. He saw his chance then. He covered it in a mound of sand to prevent Eritch from pulling it back. INVIOLABLE EDICT. A thick tendril of holy energy flowed from Marco into the Corlissen artifact. In a span of a breath, the artifact had become his. Eritch watched in horror as the chains started to tug on him instead. "Fuck!" He let go, with a grudge, lest he be dragged along.

"Surrender, then I'll give it back," yelled Marco from behind his sand golem who picked up the scythe.

His foe chuckled, "Do you think I only fight with that? You underestimate me. VIRTUE OF PERSEVERANCE!"

A basic attack spell. But its strength grows with the chanter's reserve of energy. And Eritch had not used any holy power at all except for the measly thread of INESCAPABLE FATE.

A huge halo taller than he was by a threefold materialized behind him. Then it glowed a deep ochre. As long as one persevered, he would be rewarded with an endless arsenal of weapons. From inside the yellow halo, tens and tens of spears materialized.

"Pulverize!" He hollered, though there was no need to.

The spears rained down. Marco blocked with his golem whose body became perforated as one spear after another lodged into its sand flesh. Then more spears pushed the ones that were already there. They dropped before Marco's feet with a clang.

He erected walls of sand around him as he fell back. The barrage of weapons had flattened the golem back to the ground.

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VIRTUE OF PERSEVERANCE! Two more halos formed above them. One halo produced cannon balls that demolished his shields while the other outpoured with more spears that followed Marco's retreat. Soon he would reach the edge of the arena, and he would be trapped between the wall and Eritch's rampage.

Time to counterattack.

The onslaught had caused the whole of the floor to be covered in clouds of dust. Marco had to use the sand below him as his eyes. He could sense Eritch's position. IMPRISON! He ordered the sand which had submitted to his will.

He sensed Eritch leaping to avoid the pillars of dust that sought to restrain him. But what Eritch would not expect was the cloud of dust around him to suddenly swirl. Like a predator lunging for its prey, the clouds of dust spiralled towards him, wrapping the entirety of his body in a grey cold cocoon.

When he activated his HEAVENLY GUARD against the sand that embraced him from head to toe, the three halos vanished, as did the deluge of weapons that had threatened to entrap Marco.

At last, Marco could breathe. He halted his retreat, commanding the sand below, "IMPRISON!" The sand cocoon that was soon to be Eritch's coffin continued to grow in size. Despite his heavenly guard, he would soon suffocate.

Marco turned to Professor Turington who stared aghast at the grey boulder that had become of Eritch's prison. "Declare it, declare it before he runs out of air," Marco urged him.

The professor held on for a couple of seconds more, waiting for the sand to budge but it stayed still as a rock. "It's Vermilon's victory."

Marco's badge gave off a ding, flashing the number 2, earning applause and undignified hollers in the Coliseum. As he withdrew his control over the sand, the boulder collapsed to dust almost instantly. Thud. Eritch's figure hit the ground, his HEAVENLY GUARD still shrouding his body. He dispelled it and propped his bulky frame on one knee. "You're a monster. Fuck, it's my loss."

Marco walked over to him and helped him to his feet, saying, "Now, you regret not granting my request."