Chapter 84: Franciscus' Uncle

  Franciscus didn't beat around the bush and quickly got to the heart of his request.

  "My uncle is inviting us to his estate."

  "The same one who sent you to me last year?"

  The devil child's answer was a firm nod, which made Justinian look at him with curiosity. A year ago, after the inauguration of the Holy Pilgrimage on the Mountain of Plague and Misfortune, Franciscus had appeared, wanting to study the chaos surrounding humans.

  ‘Supposedly, it was to help the child write poetry...’

  Incidentally, it also turned out that the devil had enough influence to terrify Emptyhead, and among his fans was even Voivode Boruta.

  ‘Perhaps I could gain support for our cause from him?’

  Recategorization hung over the 66th Hell Dimension like an axe slowly approaching a convict's neck. Although the Sarmatians, in their absurdity, didn't seem concerned, Justinian assessed the threat quite differently.

  Therefore, without any hesitation, he agreed to the meeting.

  "When would we go there?"

  "In five days, in the evening."

  Franciscus seemed positively surprised, and soon the two were discussing the details. The young devil claimed his uncle didn't mind company, so he suggested inviting the other members of the household as well. Justinian had doubts about whether this was the best idea, remembering the scandal at a recent banquet, but ultimately they agreed to take everyone who was willing.

  Soon, once all the details were settled, the companions said their goodbyes, agreeing on the key points. Thus, Justinian fell asleep with the hope of finding a powerful new ally for the 66th dimension.

  Over the following days, from early morning, both Justinian and Franciscus trained hard with the upcoming visit in mind. For the former, it was a matter of preparing his body for peak combat readiness. He had been in the 66th dimension for some time now and felt the vibrant aura here permeating him, allowing him to build up strength before the third level of Foundation Stabilization.

  However, the issue of the practical application of his justice remained a problem. Since spontaneously coming up with his first rule, he had been unable to make progress in this area. This was particularly concerning because even Svarticus, utilizing the power of the Devil’s Virtue of Wrath, was already at the third level of Foundation Stabilization.

  The preparations of young Franciscus looked different; he gave several trial readings of his poetry to a small circle consisting of Bogna and Totius. He was still very shy regarding his own work, and only those two were kept up to date with it.

  "It's much better than it was on Emptyhead’s mountain! Your uncle will surely be impressed!"

  "Franciscus, worldly pursuits cannot replace matters of the soul; perhaps we should talk about those?"

  Despite the different approaches of his listeners, the young devil felt these exercises developing his self-confidence and looked forward to the reunion with his uncle with anticipation.

  Time did not stop for the 66th dimension either, where Voivode Boruta had recently passed away. For many local devils, it was a time of mourning and sadness—after all, the only ruler they had ever known was gone. Many were also worried about their future fate.

  Speculations regarding who would be the next Voivode electrified the entire dimension, and three options were frequently repeated in rumors: Maleficius, the Orange Prince, or someone from the outside.

  "Is that not why we have Mountain Lords, so they can replace the Voivode if necessary?"

  "You say that, but who do you have in mind? Maleficius hasn't made a move, Eusebius is still unconscious, and Roburius only recently took over the Mountain of Envy and Conflagration!"

  "The most important thing is that the Grim Judge is currently outside the dimension! That villain would surely have used the opportunity to seize power for himself!"

  The devil peasants saw the immediate future in grim colors, and worse still, they weren't the only ones. For the noble class of the dimension, the so-called Noble Brothers, also had no clear idea of what to do. Some of them had just gathered for a convention at an inn north of the Mountain of Mists, the heart of the 66th dimension, to try and decide on the situation.

  "Have you heard that the Orange Prince has seized power in Gedania?"

  "That doesn't matter! Let's deliberate instead on why Maleficius is still silent!"

  "Supposedly, Emptyhead howled like a madman when Boruta died..."

  Deprived of strong leadership, they could not reach an agreement on basic issues for days. Time, though covered in mourning, passed in this way—spent on senseless disputes and drunkenness.

  All this changed, however, when a certain nobleman well-known in the region arrived at the inn. His esteem stemmed not only from great wealth—he owned over a hundred villages and several small towns—but also from a high level of cultivation. At first, he only watched the quarrel between two Noble Brothers who were debating what should be done with the position of the dimension's ruler, but he was soon noticed in the crowd.

  "It’s Lord Zygwulski!"

  "Do you think he came to take advantage of Rudnicki's absence?"

  Suddenly, speculations arose to which he did not react in any way, until someone in the crowd tried to curry favor with him in a rather unrefined manner.

  "Lord Zygwulski should become the new Voivode!"

  The clamor suddenly died down, only to turn into excited, broken whispers. Part of the inn quickly realized that this was a good moment to establish serious connections. Soon, more and more voices could be heard supporting his candidacy.

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  Then, without a word, Zygwulski stepped forward, searching with his eyes for the petty noble who had first thrown out his name. When he succeeded, he pointed him out to his servants. In the increasingly tense atmosphere, the petty noble was brought before him.

  "You, what is your name?"

  A deep voice asked, sounding as if directed at someone of a lower station.

  "Lasowski, sir!" the petty noble replied, bowing humbly.

  Zygwulski nodded, and then did something no one in the room expected of him. With a lightning-fast movement of his hand... he slapped his flatterer!

  "You fool! How dare you suggest that one of our brothers could be elevated above the rest! Do you not know what the greatness of our tradition consists of?"

  Lasowski, evidently much weaker, hit the floor with a dull thud, bleeding profusely. Disoriented, he didn't know how to react when Zygwulski again interrupted the astonished whispers of the room.

  "Noble Brothers! We cannot disparage our magnificent equality! This dimension belongs to us, as it always has. What we truly need is a Voivode who will not only be useful to this beautiful land but will also guarantee that we endure in Golden Liberty!"

  The longer Zygwulski spoke, the clearer it became to the nobles present that he was... absolutely right. Maleficius, the Orange Prince, or others? Who were they to impose their rule on the Noble Brothers?

  Instead, the noble class had its own plans and priorities...

  On the day of the visit to Franciscus’ uncle’s estate.

  Justinian and the young devil also invited the other tenants to visit, but they were met mostly with refusals.

  Septima said she wasn't interested, Alfons already had something else to do that evening, and Bogna blushed and refused, muttering under her breath, "Don't think I'm easy!", which caused the human great confusion.

  The Noble Brothers and Rudnicki stated that arriving at a feast in their full strength without invitations would be a faux pas, and so, besides Totius, the final group for the visit consisted of Franciscus, Justinian, and Seweryn. The latter was quite excited, being a long-time fan of Arouet de Deviliare.

  "Franciscus, is it true your uncle has estates in every dimension from 58 to 66.6?"

  "Did your uncle really say that the Voivode of the 55th dimension lies like a footman?!"

  "And is it true that..."

  The young devil answered all these questions with great patience and without any expression of emotion on his face. His indifference did not rub off on Justinian, however, who felt increasingly weary of Seweryn's behavior. Therefore, he welcomed with great relief the sight of a magnificent estate looming before them, located in a much more strategic spot than their own.

  It was built on a square base; that is, a large courtyard was surrounded by equilateral buildings made of the burnt brick popular among devils. All this was surrounded by a high fence, and the entrances were guarded by serious-looking sentries.

  As soon as Justinian and his friends approached close enough, they were stopped by them. Franciscus stepped forward to meet the demands for identity verification, handing them a letter handwritten by his uncle. One of the guards ran his eyes over it, then nodded to his colleagues to hand him some items wrapped in paper packages.

  "The invitation is in order. When entering, for your privacy and the privacy of the other guests, you must wear these masks. That is the only rule in this house."

  Justinian and Seweryn looked at each other in surprise but saw no reason to disagree. Soon they put on the assigned masks, in which they looked quite... unique. Justinian was given the visage of a fearsome lion, Seweryn a mountain ram, and Franciscus a simple, silver mask that covered his hair as well as his face.

  What struck one about Arouet de Deviliare's estate was, above all, the scale of the party taking place inside. Dozens, if not hundreds, of devils dressed in masks laughed while sipping drinks the color of ripe cherries, conversed with each other, and sometimes sent warning glances around.

  The atmosphere was incredibly lively, and Justinian felt quite overwhelmed from the very beginning by the non-stop social whirl. A cacophony of voices surrounded him from every side, sometimes sounding even more familiar than he expected.

  "My Foundation? It's huge. The most stable in the history of the 62nd dimension. In the arena, I've seen others—very weak, with very low energy. Sad."

  Justinian even looked back at a devil nearby who was saying this, expecting to encounter the Orange Prince, but to his surprise, it was only one of the alchemist adepts. He didn't have time to dwell on this strange event, however. His attention was quickly drawn by a masked devil with green hair and a wrinkled face, looking like someone in middle age, who was fast approaching their group.

  "Welcome to my humble abode!"

  The newcomer's voice was melodic, carrying with a lightness that most down-to-earth devils lacked. The green-haired man spread his arms, immediately ignoring the rule of anonymity that his own guards were enforcing at the gate.

  "Arouet de Deviliare, at your service," he bowed with exaggerated courtliness, after which his sharp eyes, glowing with intelligence, rested on Justinian. "And you must be the famous Justinian. I have been watching your actions in the 66th dimension. Exquisite! Truly, that chaos... I have never seen a more interesting start to a pilgrimage!"

  Justinian smiled pleasantly. He had not expected such a warm welcome and appreciated the positive surprise it brought.

  "Most people here," Arouet gestured in a circle, pointing to the crowd, "are fools without their own opinions, who do everything to go along with the rhythm of the world. You, however, my dear, have a rare gift. For whatever you do, you always find yourself outside its orbit."

  Franciscus' uncle adopted a conspiratorial expression as if he were revealing the greatest secret of the universe.

  Nearby, Seweryn looked as if he were about to faint with delight. His mountain ram mask shook rhythmically as the fanatic tried to suppress a squeal of excitement. De Deviliare ignored him with grace, however, turning to the silver mask.

  "Franciscus! My dear boy!" He hugged him tightly, though with a hint of irony. "Have you finally managed to abandon that eternal stiffness of yours? Have you removed the stick with which nature propped up your virtuous self?"

  "I tried, Uncle."

  "Trying is the first step to failure! Things must be taken as they are, otherwise nothing will be achieved!" Arouet laughed, then immediately swept them into the whirl of the party.

  The host proved to be the absolute life of the party. He moved between groups of guests with the grace of a dancer, throwing out anecdotes, quoting classics, and insulting some guests in such a refined way that they thanked him for the compliments.

  Justinian, despite being greatly impressed, looked around carefully.

  Everywhere around were powerful auras that didn't even try to hide. Rather, they deliberately revealed their presence, perhaps to deter overly curious glances.

  Arouet, meanwhile, was shining among the ladies.

  "Dear ladies, your masks cover your faces, but they cannot hide the radiance of your beauty!" he cried out to a group of female devils, kissing the hand of one of them.

  Suddenly, one of the female devils, in a swan mask, answered him in a bored voice:

  "Masks are not meant to hide beauty, but to protect against the meager advances of aging megalomaniacs."

  Arouet froze. His face twisted into a grimace of such theatrical suffering that the music momentarily died down.

  "O cruel fate!" he cried out, almost falling to his knees and clutching his heart. Real, heavy tears flowed from his eyes. "Do you hear that? That phrase! So poetic! I meet here a being who feels the rhythm of the universe, while at home..."

  He made a dramatic pause, wiping his face with a silk handkerchief.

  "...while at home, I live with a pig! With an absolute sow, who thinks harmony is the name of a species of potato, and the only poetry she understands is a shopping list! My genius withers in the shadow of her ignorance!"

  The room erupted in laughter and applause, taking it as another performance by the host, although Justinian had the impression that there was a disturbing amount of sincerity in that cry of despair.

  Arouet de Deviliare stood up instantly, as if he hadn't been sobbing a moment ago, brushed off his frock coat, and clapped his hands, silencing those gathered. A spark appeared in his eye, promising good fun.

  "Enough of my tragedies! Time to introduce you to my esteemed family."

  He pointed his hand at Franciscus standing next to him, and the lights in the room dimmed, focusing on the young devil.

  "Here is my dear nephew, who will read his own poetry today!"