Renato found it hard to judge whether the words of Tyr's Paladin were a threat or a warning.
Perhaps they were both? Unfortunately, Lectus's words were destined to fall on deaf ears.
Renato had already reached the middle of his path toward true knowledge and power. There was no turning back.
Besides, he would not turn back. The standards by which ordinary people judged others meant nothing to Renato. He would not be bound by good and evil, emotion, or faith.
In this perilous otherworld, I had to have power.
After night fell, the sea breeze outside the cabin turned cool, and the waves struck the hull with a steadier, more measured rhythm than during the day.
Renato lit the oil lamp on the table. Orange light spread through the cramped cabin, bathing its wooden walls in warm hues.
With a thought, he took two books out of his ring.
The two grimoires lay side by side on the table, presenting a stark contrast.
One was yellowed and withered. The leather on its cover had dried and cracked, curling upward, while tiny flakes constantly crumbled from its edges. Its once tightly bound spine had loosened, as though the whole book might fall apart at any moment.
The other had a pitch-black cover. Dark red, blasphemous runes constantly twisted and shifted across its smooth surface. Like living creatures, the characters poured out of the title page, writhing and curling along the spine before slowly vanishing at the edges of the cover, as though impatient for him to open it and read.
Renato gazed at the two books, his brow furrowing slightly.
The grimoires had been like this ever since he woke from his coma. The Edict of Dakoul had shown no obvious changes, except that it had grown increasingly active in