Slumrat Rising

Vol. 3 Chap. 72 Testing The Cushions on the Throne

Vol. 3 Chap. 72 Testing The Cushions on the Throne

Truth woke up. Or not. There was a long moment, impossible to say how long, where he lay in bed paralyzed by the sensation of unreality. The keening scream of the System faded into a high-pitched whine as every object he could perceive, every sensation he experienced, became illusory. As real as it ever was, which, for a time, was no more real than a toddler’s sketch of their bedroom.

Truth drew a convulsive, deep breath through his nose and cast Incisive as hard as he could. He didn’t adopt the guise of the Prince, he imposed that truth on the world. So far as his magic ran, so far as his law extended, it was the absolute definitional core of reality. He was the Prince, the second generation of an ancient and terrible clan. Those who were obedient would prosper. Those who opposed him would perish. His was the only orthodoxy that mattered.

Outside the bedroom, his succubus maid collapsed to its knees, a mindlessly happy expression on “her” face. Across the hotel, the succubae staff looked directly toward Truth’s suite, walls and floors ignored. They bowed in unison, then returned to their duties. The other guests and human staff were confused or upset, but that hardly mattered.

Once the sense of unreality had been stamped out, Truth allowed Incisive to relax. He kept it running as he always did, but he stopped forcing it.

System, do you know what that was? Are we under attack?

>

I’ll pass for now. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I don’t know what that was.

>

No, I don’t think so. He tried to put words around his instinct. I think I am starting to see what Cup and Knife was getting at. The world is wrong. Literally wrong. Like a picture of a chair that we all keep trying to sit down on. We have opinions about the chair. We argue about how comfortable it is. And the whole time, our ass is sticking out over nothing at all. We are taking the strain and not noticing.

>

I think, and I know how weird it is to say this, but I think Botis is actually coming at things from a less technical angle than whoever made Cup and Knife. Manda, ultimately, whoever that eminence is.

>

Truth lay in bed a while longer, then decided that, as impossibly comfortable as the bed was, he would rather meet the day washed and clothed.

“Attend me.”

The door opened instantly, the demure maid bowing before coming into the room, then bowing again before speaking. “What is your wish, Great one?”

“Prepare a shower for me. Warm a bathrobe for me to wear afterward, and lay out clothes for the day. Breakfast is to be served piping hot immediately after I exit the shower and before I am dressed. It will be accompanied by good coffee. Does the hotel have cultivation chambers available?”

“It does, though the quality may not be up to your standards.”

“Mmm. Ensure one is available for me after I dress.”

He looked at “her.” The maid’s hands were crossed in front of her, her eyes downcast, not daring to look at him without permission. “You have your instructions.”

“At once, Prince.” The maid bowed again, backed out of the room, bowed a final time, and politely shut the door.

I could get used to this.

>

The shower was quite unlike any shower he had ever had before. In a little room attached to the bathroom was a miniature tropical glade. Illusion magic made the space seem vast, the back wall turning into a forested mountain.

Coming down the mountain in a great steaming torrent was a waterfall. You could stand under the waterfall or sit on the provided stool. You could wash with any of the brilliantly herbal soaps provided or, with the touch of a gem, summon an attendant to wash you instead. The air tasted different- the fresh mountain air mixed with the humid, vegetal smell of the jungle. Truth enjoyed himself immensely but didn’t linger. He had his fill of illusions this morning.

The robe waiting for him was wonderfully warm. The breakfast, a simple, elegant affair of rice, vegetables and eggs, was hot, cooked to the peak of perfection, and shockingly delicious. Truth had eaten essentially the same meal hundreds of times before, but the difference in quality was immense. What constituted “good” food, even for those in the C-Tier, was apparently completely different from the real thing.

He took a closer look. The rice had a nearly unnoticeable glow to it, as did the vegetables. Someone had enriched them with cosmic energy, without making them explode or mutate. He hadn’t even heard of such a thing. His body certainly approved. His near-daily refinement meant that the energy he needed was enormous.

There was a moment of tension as the maid watched him lift his coffee cup to test the aroma. One long inhale. A second. There was a long pause, then a sip. There was another pause. The maid swore that she would butcher the three generations of the cook’s family if it displeased the Lord. Assuming it survived the Lord’s displeasure.

“Acceptable. When I next call for coffee, the beans will be ground slightly finer, and the water will be three degrees cooler.” He loosely extended his cup. “Add twenty five milliliters of cream to this.”

The maid obeyed instantly, pouring prettily. Looking like “she” was hiding her fear. Looking like prey. He smiled slightly and waved it back. A succubus will not change its nature. More fool you if you believed it.

The maid looked over at the door, frowning slightly. “Great One, a petitioner comes. Will you receive them?”

“After breakfast.”

Truth enjoyed the rest of the meal, savored the coffee, and sighed contentedly. Who could be coming to see him? Presumably someone connected to this hotel.

“Who is the petitioner?”

“Mary Von Raister. She is the owner of this hotel.”

“Level, affiliations?”

“She is Level Five, Prince, and the Von Raisters are a cadet branch of the Lubenz Clan. She has two sons and a daughter in the upper C-Tier at Starbrite, and her late husband was once briefly the Minister for Agriculture for Jeon.”

Truth had some vague recollection of the Lubenz Clan, but no direct contact with them. He had never been on their level, in any sense, when he last lived in Jeon. Now, he wasn’t sure if they were on his level.

“Send her in.”

Mary was beautiful, as were all of her class in Jeon. She had opted for elegant tiny scales growing along the contours of her face, dusty pink, flecked with electric blue and yellow. Her eyes were too large and too wide, at least for the surface world. Down here, they simply fit her.

Mary had taken the precaution of wearing a few discreet, but potent, charms for blocking glamors. Truth almost laughed in her face. He was the realest thing in the entire hotel. He didn’t offer her a seat.

“I am glad to see you have made yourself at home,” She said. He did look very comfortable in the hotel bathrobe.

He faintly nodded. And waited.

“Perhaps slightly too at home?”

That didn’t merit a response either. But it was noted.

“Sir, I don’t know your name or affiliation. I do know that you stole one of my servants, abducted my grandson, evicted two of my oldest friends, and yet, despite all that, the entire staff of the hotel is utterly convinced that all this is my absolute privilege.”

Truth faintly nodded again. It was.

“In fact, the Succubae universally refer to you as The Prince, a rank which has not existed in Jeon for centuries. They are all killingly jealous of your “maid” here. And none of them will explain why.”

She was a talker, wasn’t she? He was getting bored. She was in stabbing range. It would be inconvenient to change hotels, but he had endured worse. Mary had decent instincts, at least. She sensed the shifting mood, and changed tack.

“Sir, please. At the very least return my grandson. I understand he offended you, but the harm is mended. If more is required, I think my assistance far outweighs whatever service he might supply in the future.”

Truth smiled faintly. Mary didn’t quite blanch. She realized her mistake. “If it’s not his service you desire, I can provide as many as you wish for your amusement.”

He nodded slightly at that. She understood. “I will require your best cultivation room, to be reserved for my exclusive use while I am at your hotel. This room will be reserved for me whenever I am in the city, with or without notice. You will arrange access to the best magical library and research resources this city has to offer. You will do your absolute best, on your own head and the heads of your children and grandchildren, to ensure my privacy while I live here. And needless to say, you will cover all the expenses save for the cost of this room and my meals, which will be paid for by your dear friends.”

He smiled slightly. They both knew it wasn’t about the money.

“As you wish.”

Truth looked to the door. “Attend me.” There was a knock. The maid opened the door, revealing the Succubus he had stolen yesterday. It was still “dressed” as a butler. He saw no reason to change it.

“How has it fared in your care?”

“It learns slowly, My Prince, but it does learn.” The succubus murmured.

“Bring it here.”

The succubus departed and swiftly returned, wheeling a small suitcase. The case was opened, showing the desk clerk crammed into a tiny ball inside. The clerk could barely breathe, but the way his eyes had rolled up into his head suggested he wasn’t aware of that fact.

“Pull it out and wake it up.”

The Succubus did so. The clerk took one look at Truth and collapsed onto his hands and knees. Shaking in terror.

“Decent progress. Reflect on this and consider what you can improve for next time. Return it to its grandmother.”

“As you command, my Prince.”

Mary stared hard at Truth the whole time, not looking at her grandson. She made no effort to hide her weighing the advantages of violent reprisal or submission.

“You look like a prince, I suppose, but that’s meaningless in Jeon. Who, exactly, are you?”

Truth smiled and nodded at that. He leaned back in his chair, the deep plush robe wrapped around him as he sipped the last of his coffee. He didn’t answer. She could do as she pleased, but the results would be the same either way.

Mary couldn’t see all the forces stacked against her. A victim of her education and upbringing, she saw hundreds of things that Truth wasn’t, without ever seeing what was. She couldn’t understand how Incisive worked, reshaping her reality. She didn’t understand the Meditations of Valentinian, steadily accumulating local superreality. She didn’t understand how the blessing of the Brass Sea compounded those effects, proclaiming his orthodoxy, nor how the faintly accumulating traces of Cup and Knife made the world around Truth more obedient.

She didn’t see what light Etenesh’s spark cast, nor feel the reaching dominion of the Tongue. She was lost in her own garden. Searching among illusions for the illusion that didn’t belong. Confronted with the irresistible, irrefutable Truth.

By a chain of logical reasoning, she eliminated everything that he could not be, and was left with the only answer her education provided her. This was neither an illusion or a glamor. The clear eyes, cruel lips, and strong face were what they appeared to be. The man in front of her was what he appeared to be. Someone so beyond her station, he was practically a different species. All that was left was to concede with dignity, and win what she could.

“You are the Prince. I am your host. And I am thankful for your patronage.” She looked over at her grandson, and let her eyes slide to the open suitcase. Then back again to Truth. There was silence, and a request.

She was his grandmother, after all. If she could arrange a good job for him, she would. What better opportunity could he hope to receive, here at the end of days?