Vanati was unsure as what to do with the information he’d been given. First, there was no way to confirm whether the other party was lying or not and the tomes they’d offered as a symbol of goodwill could not serve as proof. As far as he knew, they could have just discovered them recently and made copies.

The Necromancer king though, was undeniably a threat for all life on the continent, and any ally, however shifty their origin was better than none. News from the north didn’t come often, and for that alone, the so-called Death-lord and her minion were invaluable… that is, assuming the information they fed them weren’t ploys from said king.

The name Janardan, was trustworthy, but that was only that a name. He’d need to confirmation from the man in person. He looked at the tomes again; they seemed legit – opinion the others cardinals seemed to share – however his – and theirs – knowledge of the death element was limited. The only one who had the capacity to confirm their veracity were only Firis and to a lesser degree Ignis.

The first, sadly, was lost. It’d been a surprise to no one when the fickle man had run away from his duty – he’d always been that kind of individual – but there had left them a blessing in the form of his only apprentice.

‘Poor kid. It must have been hell to live with that madlad.’ That thought always came to mind whenever he thought of the young man. It wasn’t that Firis was an evil man, but you’d be hard-pressed to call him a good one.

There was another reason why the cardinals – including himself – hesitated on handing the tomes to him: he’d been working for month on rewriting the church’s curriculum, and if these books were really what the envoy claimed them to be, that work would have been for naught.

“My child, could I speak with you for a minute?”

“Cardinal Vanati? It’s rare to see you there, what is so important for you to come personally to my study?” The reason was pretty obvious considering the heavy tomes under his arms, but politeness never hurts.

“I would like you to look at these and tell me what you think. We’re unsure of their origins, but… Well, you’ll understand once you see the name of the author.”

Ignis picked carefully one of the books and looked at the title. “Of curses and how to void them. By Death lord Alessa. What with the lackluster name? Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“I understand your feeling, but please look inside.”

Ignis was the first to acknowledge his lack of literary talent, which is why, he felt tired just from reading the preamble. ‘What with? It’s so well written and informative… and everything makes sense…’

It was only a few hundred words, but not a single word was wasted. He sifted the page rapidly to look at the rest and felt even more despair. It was crammed with information, design, comments and helpful annotations. Even if it was a joke and the content ended up being hogwash, the quality of the work was enough to make renounce teaching forever.

“What the hell have I been doing with my life over these past few months… Tell me? Did you bring these to torture me? I spent days agonizing on content, carefully crafting sentences, and then you bring me that! Is it a joke to you?”

“I’m sorry, child. We didn’t know of the existence of these tomes until recently. It was sent by someone claiming to be the death lord reborn.”

“The one from the legends?”

“The very same. If the content is real and she really wrote these based her own knowledge, then reborn or not, I feel like she’d merit the title.”

“I know you want me to read them to validate the content. I myself want to… however, I cannot, at least not today. I never felt this empty, before. I’m taking the day off. You don’t mind?”

“Please do.” What else could he say under these circumstances. The content was so comprehensive and perfectly written that he’d love to writer rewrite all of the church’s teaching material… even if the content was a joke.