{Chapter: 43: Another Problem For James!}
James's mood soured at once.
His fleeting hope of watching someone else suffer popped like a soap bubble in the sun. He was no longer the spectator—he had just been cast in the leading role of whatever disaster was unfolding.
His fingers tapped against the table subconsciously. He leaned forward, sharp eyes fixed on Safi. "You're sure of this?"
"As sure as the sun rises." Safi set his teacup down gently and steepled his fingers. "You of all people should know, Prince James, that we don't raise alarm bells lightly. The Crooked Spirit Society is not just some heretical group peddling anti-theistic pamphlets. They are a plague. A disease. Their faith—if you can call it that—is rooted in chaos and destruction."
James exhaled slowly, the weight of those words sinking in. He wasn't unfamiliar with the church's classifications. Many sects had been branded heretical simply because they questioned divine authority. Some were harmless, full of eccentric intellectuals and philosophers who wanted to believe in stars instead of gods. James didn't care about those.
But the Crooked Spirit Society?
That was something else entirely.
They were lunatics. Nihilists in every sense of the word. They believed the world was destined for ruin—and worse, that this ruin should be accelerated through acts of destruction, blood rituals, and the summoning of entities far beyond mortal comprehension.
They didn't worship gods. They worshipped monsters.
Demons.
James's mouth turned dry.
"I just pacified the Principality of Ar…" he muttered. "Is there never peace in this damned land?"
Safi gave a low chuckle—not mocking, but not exactly sympathetic either. "Welcome to leadership, Your Highness. The moment peace arrives is usually the moment you've missed the dagger in your back."
James narrowed his eyes. "So what are you really here for, Safi? You didn't cross three regions just to inform me. You want something."
Safi's gaze sharpened. "I want a purge."
A silence settled in the room like a falling blade.
James's knuckles tightened on the arm of his chair. "A purge. In my duchy. Do you even know how volatile that is? If we start rooting people out based on whispers, this could spiral into mass panic—maybe even rebellion."
Safi nodded. "I am well aware. Which is why I came to you first. I want this handled cleanly, efficiently. You and I—together."
James gave a dark chuckle and stood up, walking to the window where the moon hung pale over Marton's capital.
"Together," he echoed. "A prince and a butcher priest. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."
Safi rose as well and joined him by the window. Though their shoulders did not touch, there was a strange sense of familiarity between them—of old scars hidden beneath fine robes and royal coats. Two men who knew what it meant to carry burdens heavier than their crowns.
"The Crooked Spirit Society isn't merely a collection of madmen," Safi said softly, his voice more somber now. "Their roots go deep—too deep. Do you know how long they've existed?"
James shook his head. "Not exactly. I've heard stories. Rumors."
"Six hundred seventy-nine years," Safi said. "Their first appearance coincided with the Third Demonic Disaster. Ring any bells?"
James's expression darkened.
Of course it did.
The Third Demonic Disaster had nearly wiped out the central kingdoms. Millions dead. Cities lost to infernal flames. Families torn apart. It had taken generations to rebuild, and even now, entire stretches of cursed land remained uninhabitable.
"You're saying… they were behind that?"
"Or at the very least, they opened the door."
James turned away from the window. His tone was colder now.
"Then they're not just cultists. They're a ticking bomb."
"Exactly," Safi said. "And we must defuse it before they light the fuse."
James asked with a grim and deeply furrowed expression, his voice heavy with disbelief and dread, "Hasn't that group of lunatics been wiped out by your church long ago?"
Bishop Safi didn't respond immediately. He took a slow sip of his now-lukewarm tea and let out a sigh that carried the weight of centuries of disappointment. He gave a helpless shrug and replied, "You know how it is, James. Lunatics and ambitious men are like weeds growing in the cracks of a stone road—no matter how many times you burn them, cut them, drown them, they find a way to sprout again. We've fought tooth and nail to crush every offshoot of the demon cults, and I assure you, we've succeeded in dismantling most of them. But some, like the Crooked Spirit Society… they're the kind that slips through shadows. They're slippery, fanatical, and above all—patient."
His words seemed to echo in the still air of the grand chamber. Outside, the distant toll of a cathedral bell reminded them of the sanctity the world tried desperately to cling to—despite the chaos always waiting to erupt.
James ran a hand over his face and groaned in frustration. He looked as though someone had just dropped a mountain on his back. "Oh, my God... why now?"
He collapsed back into his seat, hands clasped over his head. His elbows rested on the table, and he looked like a man who had just been told the end of the world might knock on his door any minute.
Safi was momentarily taken aback by the reaction. He had anticipated resistance, perhaps some skepticism or stubborn denial—but not this level of despair. This was a man who had led armies, brokered treaties, and fought to reclaim Marton's former glory. He was a symbol of the kingdom's new hope.
Yet here he was, nearly unraveling at the mention of demons.
The bishop frowned slightly, then leaned forward in concern. "Crown Prince, you needn't look so crushed. The situation hasn't reached the point of no return. If the Church has sent me here personally, that alone should show you how seriously we're taking this threat. We're not standing by. Our agents believe the summoning hasn't happened yet. There's still time. We have days—maybe a week at most. If we act fast, we can root them out before anything irreversible occurs."
He paused, then muttered inwardly, What's going on with you, James? I haven't even started bargaining for assistance or discussed what the Church expects after the dust settles—and you look ready to collapse!
James, however, wasn't just reacting to the Crooked Spirit Society's threat. His mind raced with deeper fears. If it were just a group of lunatics hidden in the alleys and basements of Marton's capital, he might have still managed. But this wasn't just any cult—this was one with ties to demons who had left scars on the world's history.
Worse yet, James remembered Dex—his mysterious ally or perhaps his greatest unknown threat—who had been residing in the royal capital for months now. A being of immense power cloaked in ambiguity. If Dex were to cross paths with one of these summoned horrors…
James shut his eyes tightly, forcing down the shiver that tried to crawl up his spine. If two demons appear in the same city… gods help us. The king might not even make it out alive. No one might.
He glanced sideways at Bishop Safi, who continued to speak words of encouragement, seemingly oblivious to the swirling panic in James's mind.
If this old man knew there was already something inhuman living among us… he'd be the first to flee the capital with a holy convoy trailing behind him.
But James also understood the harsh truth: he couldn't run. Not now. Not when his people needed him. Not when the world had just begun to look at Marton as more than a crumbling relic.
So he lifted his head, his expression composed, masking the chaos beneath. He forced a thin smile onto his face and said with slow deliberation, "It's just… hard to accept. Our Principality of Marton has just started to rise again. We've just begun to taste what it means to be strong… and yet someone out there wants to summon a demon into our midst? That's not just reckless. It's unforgivable. A crime against all who live under our banner. I swear to you, Bishop Safi—I will see that person hunted down and destroyed."
Safi nodded approvingly, the lines around his eyes softening. "Yes, that's the spirit I hoped to see. As the future King of Marton, you must be unyielding in the face of darkness. And know this—the Church will not abandon you in this struggle. We have no intention of turning a blind eye to this crisis. Our strength will be yours, our blades and prayers at your disposal."
Then Safi hesitated. A shadow of reluctance passed across his face, as if an invisible hand pulled back his composure. "However…" he began carefully, "You know as well as I do—our Church is vast, but not without its own burdens. Resources are tight. The recent purges in the southern frontier… well, they've left us stretched thin."
James raised his hand with the air of a seasoned statesman, cutting the bishop off mid-sentence.
"There's no need to speak further, Bishop Safi. I understand. Times are hard for everyone—even the holy must carry burdens. The Principality of Marton will not be stingy in matters of shared survival. As long as your requests do not threaten the stability of our people, I am willing to discuss anything. Whatever support the Church needs—logistical, financial, or manpower—we'll find a way to meet it."
Bishop Safi's eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
Smart young man, he thought. Knows how to make a deal without losing face. This one will go far… if he survives.
'This guy is very smart!'
Bishop Safi was immediately delighted and nodded with satisfaction.
The two clasped forearms, sealing the silent pact with a gesture older than kings and churches alike.
And though nothing had been officially signed, no scroll inked with royal sigils or ecclesiastical seals, both men knew—they had just entered into an alliance that might determine the fate of the entire kingdom.
'Old man, if something goes wrong, we'll die together. Don't try to hide away!'
James looked at Safi who was coaxed and nodded with satisfaction.
The two sides successfully reached an agreement on this!!