Modern Patriarch

Chapter 117: Interlude- Ilivarra Feralheart

Gavril Arkael of the Ancient Codex strode down a dimly lit chamber with purpose, his expression focused as he cut through the pull on his senses, resisting the urge to cut left down into a well-lit hallway when he knew through prior experience that his destination lay ahead. Tilting his gaze upwards, he noted the runes carved into the reinforced stone-hewn ceilings surface; wild splatters of blood that formed subtle patterns only if one would study it thoroughly, both from up close and afar.

No doubt the one he sought was aware of his presence and Gavril Arkael did not begrudge him for not lowering his personal quarters defenses. There were no friends in the eclectic megalopolis that served as the Ancient Codexs capital and that statement stood especially true for its crown jewel. Planted in the northern end of the sprawling city, an eclectic building looked down upon the populace of cultivators, mortals and slaves alike.

The windowless structures facade was a labyrinthine, irregular construction of room layers stacked upon each other with haphazard abandon. Jutting out at odd angles, the ruling seat of the Ancient Codex resembled a hastily constructed ziggurat in some ways, as its sprawl diminished with elevation. Yet if one were to observe closely, without fear for the terrible power that rested within, they would come to discover the architectural style to possess a distinctly communal feel to it, as if the building was a living organism sensitive to its inhabitants' needs.

It was true, as well. Every few decades, the Ancient Codexs seat of power, The Citadel of Echoes would see sweeping renovations. Elders died all the time, but few of them had the honor of residing in the presence of the Master of the Codex. When one such talent was found and recruited amongst the true inner fold, considerations were naturally given to their residential preferences. It took the Citadels artifact spirit roughly a year to extend its protection onto the renovated areas, a vulnerability that could be tolerated in the pact-bought era of peace.

Over time, as Gavril Arkael had seen, the citadel had a tendency to grow and grow. It was an annoyance, of course, to navigate these confusing halls, but he would not be found complaining, for the privilege was far greater. The Master of the Codex was the only one that could rival the nightmarish power of the Artifact Spirit left behind by the ancients and Gavril knew that for a fact even though he had never been authorized to make contact with the Ancient Codexs greatest asset.

As it turned out, the true strength of the sect had more to do with the inheritance of the past over the strength over the present.

Left, left, straight down the narrow pathway, right into an oblong room that branched out into three paths. West he went, stopping when he had crossed the half-way mark and slowly reaching out with his outstretched hands towards an age-mottled stone wall.

His hands sunk into the wall, confirming the illusion rune to be in the same place as the last time and he stepped into an antechamber that he knew led into the guest room.

Once again, he reminded himself of the nature of the loathsome creature he was facing. There were no friends in the Ancient Codex, only acquaintances. And dealing with this particular acquaintance required delicate caution stretched to the extreme, for the spymaster of the Ancient Codex was not a force to be easily trifled with.

That wariness was balanced by a silent fury at being forced down one hallway after the next like a bumbling fool. He did not begrudge the spymaster for not lowering his defenses, but Gavril Arkael did hate him for it. He hated his own lack of talent in the field of greater blood runescripting and reminded himself that one day, if the opportunity presented itself, his blade would sink into the flesh of the spymaster and claim his vast knowledge, terrible secrets and overwhelming talents for himself.

Akin to how the Current Master of the Codex had succeeded his predecessor.

I am honored, An androgynous voice full of amusement sounded out as Gavril stepped into the guest room, an arrangement of humble elegance. Two leather diwans flanked a small rectangular table in the center of the room, its left taken up by three bookshelves that hugged the walls oblong features in a U-shaped formation, a wide table taking the opposite end of the room, its surface dotted with spread maps and unfurled scrolls. The great Gavril Arkael has finally deigned to grace us with his presence, after tasting defeat at the hands of a child Soul Emperor and losing an arm to Wujing Yang on a simple reconnaissance mission! His voice echoed out with false aplomb, the derision layered his tone scathing.

A twitch of his lower lip was the only physiological response he allowed in response to the torrential anger roiling within.

Losing to an ancient relic is hardly a measure of skill, Gavril Arkael replied as his piercing gaze took in the figure that leisurely lay across the diwan, a bowl full of rare spiritual fruits that were normally far too valuable in alchemy to consider eating directly, piled onto top of each other by the handful.

He took in those loathsome knife ears, that slender but not diminutive build, glossy white hair alluringly contrasting with her caramel colored skin.

Accursed Dark Elf, Gavril Arkael thought, as he realized that despite his rapid growth in the last decade, he still could not tell if it was the real Ilivara Feralheart that lay in his presence or not.

A decade, Gavril, Ilivara said, her tone unnervingly calm getting calmer. If he had even a decades worth of experience as a Soul Emperor, your loss could have been rationalized away before our enemies.

The change came without any warning as Ilivarras attractive smile morphed into a hideous snarl, a flick of her finger causing a nail-sized blood poison dart to lance forward in his direction.

Gavril could have dodged the attack that was more annoyed than murderous, but he chose to instead send a message as he caught the poisoned blood in his false hand a pseudo Soul Emperor level artifact that he had a blacksmith of the Ancient Codex forge for his needs. The treacherous scum, Wujing Yang, had made sure to give him a wound that could not be healed at least not without centuries of effort and he had also made him extend an escape method granted to him by the Master of the Codex himself.

The poison within the dart was enough to kill his physical body, no doubt. Even then, he did not show an ounce of hesitation as he trapped it within the metal artifacts fist. A touch of his own blood flame incinerated it a moment later.

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You know my strength, Spymaster, Gavril Arkael impassively stated, reminding himself that death was a more favorable option compared to showing weakness. I may be no more than a small notation in your calculus of scheming, but do not allow yourself to forget why I am here, why I was chosen.

Mmmm-mm-m, The Dark Elf hummed in a sing-song voice, as if she was progressively reigning in her anger. You know that you must fix this, Gavril? She asked, sitting herself up on the diwan as her stunning crimson eyes locked onto his own with predatory focus.

It is not my arm that Wujing Yang severed, Gavril replied. It is my pride. I cannot best him but neither could he have injured me, if it was not for that treacherous relic that came from who-knows-where. A relic, if I may add, was not mentioned in the mission scroll.

Is that accusation I hear in your tone? Ilivarra asked.

Perhaps, Gavril replied with candor.

Hmmmm-m, Ilivarra brooded with another progressive hum, though her tone got deeper in subsequence this time. Yao Shen. Unaffiliated with any righteous path alliance. Esoteric Human Dao. And now, an ancient relic that specializes in strengthening the soul. I suppose the blame is not entirely on your head.

Your wisdom is unparalleled, Spymaster, Gavril Arkael replied in a deliberately bland tone.

So, She began. You loathe this Yao Shen because you believe he treacherously ambushed you. And now you want to make him hurt, She laid out her understanding.

Gavril remained silent, but in his silence there lay confirmation.

Are you incapable of comprehending the concept of irony? Ilivarra asked, before she bit into a fleshy greenish-white fruit.

If we are being blunt, then you very well understand what will happen to me if I let this wound on my reputation fester, Gavril Arkael sharply responded, failing to contain his anger.

Yes, yes, Ilivarra replied with a swipe of her hand. You will be dead before the end of this cycle, slain by Druin Marahn or Selvi Sirroka for your position. However, however, however, She repeated thrice, the fury in her tone rising with each progressive repetition. You were asked to investigate his person. That was the mission I tasked you with, received the Masters seal of approval on. Investigate! Not threaten his disciples and sect. Not force him into a life and death duel, Ilivarras caramel cheeks were now tinted with two blushes of red as she hurled the spiritual fruit in her hand at Gavril Arkaels head.

He could have dodged, but instead he allowed himself to receive the humiliation, as the fruit exploded on impact, drenching his hair in its hue.

I understand my mistake, Gavril Arkael replied through pursed lips. That is why I come to you asking a favor in an individual capacity. I have received word from one of the lower-ranked spies you allowed me access to. Yao Shen is planning on challenging a region in the Azlak Plains known as the Gorge of Death. It is a wasteland that has been explored by an Soul Emperor of ours in the past, a barren land that contains nothing but the aftermath of a profoundly terrifying clash of two Shadow Qi ancients. It will require that cocky fool a few months to explore that region before coming to that conclusion and the remnant Shadow Qi within is more than enough to harm, if not outright slay a Soul Emperor.

You underestimated him once, Illawarra replied. Do you wish to repeat that mistake?

Gavril shook his head, before answering, I am sure he has his methods and his purpose. But he will be away from his sect for a few months

If you are fool enough to suggest breaking the pact for a puny Soul Emperor, I will slay you where you stand, Ilivarra replied. Forcing him into a duel was skirting it far enough. It would have been a smart move since there is no alliance to back his claims, as long as you did not grievously injure him a heart demon would have served well enough. But since you lost, you are inept and forbidden from ever trying something like that again.

No, Gavril Arkael replied. I only ask a Soul Emperor level flesh puppet and access to your spy in the Heavenly Sky Sect.

Hmm-mm-m, She hummed in thought. Why?

You know how they are, Gavril replied with a shrug. Crippling his sect will destroy his psyche far more effectively than fear of me ever could. That is how their righteousness works.

Humans and their pets, She muttered thoughtfully. The spy?

Once Yao Shen has entered the Gorge of Death, I will have him take a heart-rending pill and assassinate one of his disciples.

The flesh-puppet?

Insurance. If my assassination fails, I will know that it is a possibility that Yao Shen is feigning, possibly waiting for me to deploy the Elders so that he can slay them himself and gain leverage in the inevitable alliance that he will have to seek with the East.

My flesh-puppet cannot fight him, She replied, alluding to the pact.

But it can be destroyed without any traces, Gavril explained. I do not expect you to fight. Hold his people hostage long enough for my familys Nascent Souls to show their insignificant sect the difference between our cultivation. A fair battle Nascent Souls against Nascent Souls, without treachery. That is all I ask.

A massacre, you mean, Ilivarra replied. You are like a child lashing out on a tantrum, but I suppose that is fine. The real question though, is whether you can afford it. It is fully within the realm of possibility that he immobilizes my flesh-puppet with his relic before I can threaten a single hostage. In effect, you need to pay the price of a single Soul Emperor flesh puppet.

What is your ask? Gavril Arkael asked, his expression tense as he knew the moment of truth had arrived. He was desperate, she knew. She could wring him dry if she wished to. Or she could deny him his request and doom him to the hands of his enemies, who will finally have enough political leeway to slay him and claim his spot in the Citadel.

The Master would not stop them.

Ilivarra's lips curled upwards into a smile.

Now you ask the questions that please me, She said and Gavril Arkaels heart dropped. A thing that is my price.

A thing? Gavril repeated, puzzled.

A thing I ask of you that does not threaten your life. You will do it for me without question and never tell a soul of it. That is my price.

Gavrils expression warped into a hateful anger as he realized what was being asked of him.

I can pay in other resources, he tried, then stopped upon seeing the disapproval in Ilivarras expression.

Can you re-negotiate the price if your flesh puppet is not required in the battle? Gavril asked, the raw desperation in his tone audible.

I suppose you are not completely displeasing to look at, Ilivarra muttered after some thought. Very well, I shall not interfere in the battle as long as the Soul Emperor is not present. If he is and I am required to interfere, which will cost me the puppet one way or the other, then you shall do the thing. Otherwise, resources shall suffice.

Gavril Arkael bowed in genuine gratitude, as a path to survival finally revealed itself to him. Naturally, it was not out of concern for his familys elders that he wanted Ilivarras flesh puppet as insurance, but the fact that a second failure and the resultant loss of face would force the Master himself to execute him for his incompetence.

The upstart, Yao Shen, had underestimated the depths of the Demonic Paths resources and the lengths Gavril was willing to go to for revenge.

The righteous path would be forced to confront its own impotence and Yao Shen would be crushed to death under the weight of his own righteousness.

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