The summons came, carried by a young, trembling acolyte who could barely meet his eyes.
The Nameless Litany requested the honor of his presence.
Again.
Liam suppressed a sigh, his focus fractured.
Before him, the Cognitor's schematics for the Ashard front's supply lines shimmered, a puzzle of logistics and projected casualties.
That was where his mind needed to be—on strategy, on survival. Not on another round of theatrical devotions.
"They are… insistent, my Lord," the acolyte whispered, bowing so low her horns nearly scraped the floor.
"I have to go," Liam muttered to the empty chamber after she left.
The massive influx of Devotion Essence was a potent fuel, he couldn't deny that. But it came with strings attached—a constant, draining demand for validation.
He was a general preparing for war, not a priest hearing confessions.
Yet, a god who ignored his most fervent worshippers was a god inviting doubt. The actor in him knew the show must go on.
He found them in a smaller, more intimate chamber deep within the castle's sanctum.
It smelled of aged ink and strange, astringent herbs.
At the center sat the High Priestess.
She was ancient, her form so frail it seemed the grey robes she wore were all that held her together.
A silken blindfold was tied over where her eyes should be, yet she turned her head with uncanny precision as he entered.
He saw it: her horns, like the rest of these women, had also been cut off.
Why?
Yet, as much as his curiosity burned, he dared not ask, because he felt it in his chest that the answer would break him.
Her voice was like dry leaves scattering over stone.
"He comes," she intoned. "The silence that answers. We are grateful."
Liam said nothing, adopting the weary, ancient posture he used for them. He expected more prostrations, more chants.
Instead, the High Priestess extended a claw-like hand. In her palm rested a gem, no larger than his thumb. It was a deep, murky purple, and it seemed to drink the dim light of the chamber rather than reflect it.
"A gift," she rasped. "For the war to come. A Focusing Crystal. It is the last of its kind, passed down through the high priestesses of our order since the first whispers of your name."
Liam's feigned boredom became genuine interest. He reached out, and as his fingers brushed the gem, a System alert flickered.
[Artifact Identified: Focusing Crystal.
Effect: Can be consumed to temporarily amplify the power of a single spell or skill by 300%.
One-time use.]
His breath caught.
A 300% amplification. On Hell's Summon? On Oblivion's Gaze? It was a tactical nuke, a get-out-of-death-free card.
"Why?" The question left him before he could stop it, his actor's composure slipping. "Why give this to me?"
The blindfolded face seemed to look through him.
"A tool is only sacred if it is used. It is our hope that this will help you… remind the world of its fear." She lowered her hand. "There is no price. Only a request. A simple blessing for these new acolytes. They have given everything to serve. They seek only a moment of your… clarity."
She gestured to three young demons kneeling to the side.
They looked terrified, their horns still small and yet to be severed. This was the transaction. A world-altering artifact for a few kind words.
He tucked the crystal away, the weight of it feeling immense in his pocket.
"Very well."
He expected to lay hands on their heads, to mutter some archaic verse and be done with it.
He was prepared for that performance.
The first acolyte, a girl with nervous, fluttering hands, looked up at him, her voice a tremulous whisper.
"My Lord… how do I know if my faith is true? Sometimes… sometimes I feel nothing but doubt."
Liam froze. This wasn't in the script. He couldn't blast her with hellfire or command her to stop breathing.
He had to… answer.
The actor took over, his mind scrambling.
He let a sad, knowing smile touch his lips, his gaze looking through her into a painful past that was not his, yet utterly understood by him.
"Doubt is not the opposite of faith," he said, his voice soft and resonant. "It is the proof that your faith is being tested. Faith untouched by doubt is like a melody that's never been heard. It is the silence after the scream that makes the scream have meaning."
The girl's eyes widened, filling with tears of profound relief. She bowed her head, a weight visibly lifting from her shoulders.
The second, a young demon, spoke next, his voice tight with anxiety.
"I feel so small. What is my purpose in your great design?"
"To be a single, perfect note in a composition of chaos," Liam answered without hesitation, the words flowing like a dark, beautiful poison. "The avalanche begins with a single stone. Do not seek to be the avalanche. Be the stone, and trust that I am the mountain."
The third, the most timid of all, simply wept.
"I am afraid," she choked out. "All the time. I am afraid of the war, of the paladins, of failing you."
Liam crouched down, bringing himself to her level. He didn't touch her. He simply let his presence, the False Sovereign's Aura, settle around her like a cloak of night.
"Fear is the fuel," he murmured, his voice intimate and terrifying. "The Radiant Empire burns with certainty. It is a weak, brittle flame. But we… we burn with fear. With doubt. With sin. It is a fire that cannot be extinguished. Your fear does not disappoint me. It is my strength."
It was the most demanding performance of his life.
There were no special effects, no grand displays of power. Just words, aimed directly at the most vulnerable parts of their souls.
He wasn't draining his Essence pool; he was draining something else, something human he'd thought was buried.
It was emotionally exhausting.
When it was over, the three acolytes were weeping, but their postures were straight, their faces left with a fierce, new resolve.
The blind High Priestess bowed her head. "Thank you."
Liam left the chamber without another word. The Focusing Crystal felt like a lead weight in his pocket.
As he walked the empty corridor back to his rooms, the System alert came.
[Devotion Critical Mass Achieved!]
[Essence Conversion: +1,150 EP]
[True Essence: +115]
The surge of power was immense, a tidal wave of pure, unfiltered belief crashing into him, almost as strong as what he'd felt from the council.
It was terrifying.
He stopped, leaning against the cold stone wall, and finally understood.
Faith wasn't a one-way transaction where he performed and was paid in power.
It was a covenant.
Their belief empowered him, but it demanded a piece of him in return—a performance of empathy, of understanding, of a love so vast it could embrace their despair.
It demanded a heart he wasn't sure he had anymore.
The Crystal in his pocket was a weapon of unimaginable power.
But the cost of acquiring it felt, for the first time, staggeringly high.