***Sister Rieze, 12th of the Sonneritters’ mini-arc 1/4.***
Sister Rieze banged the side of her head against a rock.
An odd thing for any grown woman to do. But there was no way around it. The wind sweeping across the sheer cliff was so bad she was being practically assaulted with each and every inch she climbed. Especially as she was also carrying a large suitcase.
But it wasn’t so bad. Not at all.
And if she told herself that enough, then she’d even begin to believe it.
“Huff … Huff … uff … ughh … arrghhhhhhh!!”
Rieze was beside herself with annoyance.
Today was her 29th birthday. And that meant she was officially almost 30. Each day, that terrible number came closer. And while everyone else ran their own businesses, owned a nice cottage in the countryside and hired a tutor to teach their kids how to play the piano, Rieze had spent almost all 29 of those years slaving away in the Holy Church’s premier secret military cabal.
And her reward on this special day?
Climbing a cliff.
She paused, gathered a ball of phlegm in her mouth, then spat into the abyss below.
And she thought last year’s expired gift certificate was bad.
The disrespect was palpable! She didn’t want to be climbing a cliff! She wanted a promotion, a pay rise and better holiday allowances!
But oh noooo. Knowing her peers, she’d been set up to fail. That’s why she was climbing a cliff instead of deciding which kingdom’s beaches she’d be spending her gratuitous holiday allowance on this year.
They didn’t want her getting a promotion. Because that’d mean someone else getting a demotion. And nobody wanted healthy competition in an organisation where everyone else was happy with their lot in life.
And so Sister Rieze remained as the 12th of the Sonneritters.
The least of them, as her number constantly reminded her. And were she anyone else, she’d pack her bags and go join the Cowled Magisters, the Shadow Minstrels or maybe even Lotus House. The heavens only know how many times one of their brochures ended up in her pockets.
Which was bizarre. Since her sister’s habit didn’t even have pockets.
That, she admitted, was impressive.
But no. Rieze just had to refuse to quit. She’d been set up to fail. And so instead of allowing her very well rounded frustrations to consume her, she smiled instead.
The Grandmaster’s eye was always wandering. And when climbing a cliff, Rieze was ever so hard to miss.
Even now, she could feel the gaze upon her, watching expectantly to see if she’d rise or fall. Well, Rieze only had one choice on the matter. The other meant doom. And not just for her career prospects.
Once again, Rieze bumped her head against a rock.
“Grrrrrrrrr!!”
She gritted her teeth, then continued climbing.
Again, she convinced herself it wasn’t so bad. After all, having her forehead colliding awkwardly with a cliff was also a method to numb the greater pain in her head.
Division of trauma. A useful strategy.
More than once she’d purposefully stubbed her toe to lessen the horror of listening to another sinner’s sorrow over philandering, gambling or stealing.
True, headbutting a cliff while constantly swapping a large suitcase between her tired hands was a bit too successful on the distraction gauge. But climbing a mountain dominated by vertical cliffs wasn’t something she’d done before.
Yes … just as dealing with the fallout of not having enough repenting sinners to absolve through donations was something she’d never done before, either.
And that, currently, hurt her head more than anything else.
Frankly, she’d never once considered finances to be a problem. Not because the Holy Church was above such matters as crowns. But because sinners were everywhere. They were mice flocking to a wedge of cheese between the corpses of two other mice who’d previously fought for it.
But now?
Apparently, they’d disappeared and attained some standards in morality.
And that was terrible.
Because despite all the talents, wisdom and experience Rieze possessed, solving the ailing finances of the Holy Church in this tiny region of this tiny kingdom wasn’t a task she was suited to at all.
In fact, she had no idea how to go about this.
She was a sister. A sister who did things so illegal she sometimes wanted to arrest herself. She was certainly no accountant. Her skills were utterly wasted here.
If the local chapel wanted to earn more revenue, then they needed to hire a troll. But alas, she understood it was too much to hire godless blasphemers for the role. Their only religion was money.
And that’s exactly why they were far more suitable for this than Rieze was.
But everyone knew that already.
Yes … she was under absolutely no doubt.
She’d been set up to fail.
Sadly for her peers, however, Rieze had no intention of doing so. And should she discover a troll atop this cliff, she’d be more than open to listening to a few heathenous viewpoints when it concerned maximising gross profit margins.
Maybe that’s why the Grandmaster sanctioned her expedition to this wasteland of a kingdom. She certainly recognised that donations drying up was as horrifying a prospect as a revival by the Witch of Calamity.
And so she ignored the wind, the cliff, and the carrion crawlers burrowing in and out of it as they fled from her. This was an important mission. Deeply inappropriate for one without any financial acumen. But even so–
She could practically taste that promotion!
The 11th seat … no, maybe so far as the 9th. Everyone knew she was overdue. And no matter which she took, it’d mean at least another 8.5 days of holiday entitlement per year. An outrageous jump.
“Huff … uff … huff …”
Hence why Rieze smiled with enthusiasm as she climbed, her delicate fingers reaching for a jagged protrusion which ripped at her sister’s sleeves.
“Huff … ufff … hhhuuuffff …”
Compared to the last things she did, this was easy. And while she initially complained over her mode of entry, she now wouldn’t have accepted any other method to enter the kingdom.
After all, a private carriage with ample cushioning would just be a needless expense. No, far better to divert any funds available to the dwindling Holy Church in this region. Then she could be rid of this place earlier as well.
“Huff … uffff … huff ………..”
Rieze bit her lips as she peered up, her hand searching for what she hoped would be a sign of her struggle’s end.
She found it at last. Flat ground. And a tuft of grass.
Without hesitating, she lobbed her suitcase, then hoisted herself the final stretch.
She was rewarded by the earth giving way. A problem had she not experienced a similar surprise at the cliffs overlooking the Duchy of Triese. She lunged with all her strength, grabbing the roots of some bramble revealed by the sliding dirt.
It snapped as she lifted herself over, but by then she was safe, crawling across the yellowing grass as parts of the mountain tumbled down without her.
She sucked in a breath.
And then, she looked up.
“Uuuuuuuughhhhhhh.”
This wasn’t the top of the mountain!
In fact, this wasn’t anywhere near it!
Beside her was a road … a long, trailing road stretching upwards, before losing itself around a distant corner. And that meant walking.
Lots of walking.
Rieze gritted her teeth, distressed but still resolute.
Fine. Walking it was. At least she didn’t need to climb the rest of the way.
Plus there was a stream.
She heard it at once, her ears trained by the many times she’d been sent deep into some lightless wilderness to starve or die of thirst.
Rieze dusted off the worst of the soil caking her habit. She could do little about the torn sleeve. A point against her when she returned, but her peers had seen worse.
Thus, she picked up her suitcase and set off, drawn to the promise of respite.
She found it before long. A clear stream running down beside the main trail, bordered by tall grass and lapped at by roots and mountain hedgehogs alike. She tickled one’s nose when it came to join her in indulging in the water.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh …”
Rieze knelt down and drank from her palm.
Briefly, she spied her reflection peering back at her. The face of someone so offensively plain that she was often lost in a crowd without her distinctive habit. And now she could barely see herself past her messy, wispy hair. It was the colour and consistency of straw, first beaten then chewed on by a horse.
In short, exactly how she felt.
Soon, Rieze rose to her feet and resumed her trek towards the town of Stermondt.
She didn’t expect her prayers for a passing carriage to be answered. She looked less like a sister of the Holy Church and more a smuggler ferrying wine from Granholtz. A trade which had recently slowed, and not only because of the border restrictions. The people here truly were becoming more pious in their dealings.
They were no longer stuck in their criminal ways.
Again. Terrible.
Yet there were always shadows cast by the light. No matter how prosperous the people or how good their hearts, all flocks were not exempt from their strays. And it filled Rieze’s heart with no small amount of relief to know that this was no different in the Kingdom of Tirea.
Indeed, she did not need to walk far before she smelled the first hints of something awry in this small kingdom.
Blood.
A smell she recognised well.
All sisters were first and foremost healers. Though the Holy Church meant different things to different people, all knew it as a place of sanctuary to heal bodily injuries, sooth illnesses and, for the wealthiest, remove diseases. But whether a trainee sister or a seasoned cleric, all were adept to the smell of the wounded.
In this world, there was never a lack of it.
Rieze immediately hurried her strides. Purpose guided her footsteps, her veil flowing behind her to the breeze as she followed the odour pervading the air. And then she followed the cries.
“..... Uuhhhghhgh …..”
Breaking into as much of a run as her awkward habit could allow, Rieze swiftly headed up the trail. It widened into a clearing, the trees making way to reveal a scene of devastation. Of bloodshed.
But not of battle.
Even though weapons and armour could be seen spilled in every direction, it did not take a trained eye to see that whatever had occurred here, it had been as much a fight as it was when a farmer flung a slug from their crops.
The bodies of armed men lay crumpled around the clearing, their bloodied corpses staining the grass. In some cases, it was difficult to discern where one body ended and another began. They were physically torn asunder, as though ripped by the jaws of some great beast.
And yet if that had been the case, there would be less of them.
Most beasts, after all, didn’t leave their spoils of war behind. They consumed them. And then turned them into fertiliser.
This was a massacre. Yet given the prodigious amount of bodies and equipment lying around, a massacre for no reason other than the sake of it.
Rieze looked down upon the nearest felled body, and saw only expressions locked in fear, mouths still in the midst of a scream.
She also saw their attire.
Patchwork armour and blackened, almost blunted weapons. Some of the blood on them had already long since dried.
Men of the road. Bandits.
“Uuuuhhhhhgh …..”
A groan caught Rieze’s attention.
The only discordance amongst the silence.
Ignoring the fallen, Rieze swept around the killing field, eventually finding a body betraying signs of life. He wore the same tired armour as the others, his back to the grass as his hand clutched at a sharp gash across his thigh.
Rieze’s footsteps neared.
As her figure blocked the sun, the man opened his eyes–and immediately cracked a thin smile.
“Heh,” he croaked. “A sister? … Does that mean I’m already on my way?”
Rieze blinked down at the man.
A distraction. A detour. But she was still a sister, even if she was of the Sonneritters. And that meant appearances needed to be maintained.
She offered a smile warm enough to soothe any wound. Except this one. Because this one was bad. And so she lowered her suitcase instead, kneeling to examine the injury.
“Not yet,” replied Rieze. “What happened here?”
The man coughed, bringing his other hand and the dagger still within it resting against his side.
“An ambush … irony, huh?”
“An ambush?”
“Yeah. We got word a merchant was coming up this way. Figured it’d be an easy day out. Didn’t expect to get ambushed ourselves.”
The strength of his smile increased as a sardonic expression flashed across his face.
“Figured I might as well confess. You know, just in case.”
He coughed again, a spittle of blood evidence of internal bruising or puncture.
Rieze reassessed him.
Very bad. Still, he would live. Especially if it were her hands that healed him.
She took in a deep breath, then clasped her hands together in prayer, drawing flecks of gold towards her like moths to candlelight.
“Who ambushed you?”
The man’s eyes glanced over the light. He relaxed. A little too much. A trickle of blood flowed past the hand covering his gash.
“Not who. What. A monster. A true monster.”
“Which monster?”
“I can’t … I can’t tell you. I couldn’t see. None of us could. It was like a … like a shadow. One second it was there. The next it was everywhere else. Just blood. Blood everywhere. And darkness. I don’t know what happened or where it went … don’t even know how I’m still alive.”
Rieze nodded, her eyes glancing over some of the bodies as she slowly parted her hands. She guided the golden light over the gash.
“[Sacred Heal].”
At once, the wound began to close.
No different than a ripped toy being sewn together by a seasoned seamstress, the flesh and skin came together, cajoled by the warmth of holy magic.
The power of miracles.
Yet even amongst those who dedicated their entire lives to the art of healing, few could do so with as much expertise as Rieze. Even within the closed ranks of the Sonneritter, she stood out for her affinity with holy magic.
The man gave a sigh of relief, his hand falling away from the gash.
Then, he coughed again, the wounds beneath his patchwork armour not yet attended to. Rieze swept her hands across his chest, using the last of her spell to soothe whatever bruising lay hidden underneath.
He immediately sucked in a deep breath.
“Thanks,” he croaked, clarity entering his eyes as he looked up at the smiling figure with messy, wispy hair. “I … I didn’t want to ask for help. Didn’t know if I should. I don’t really deserve it.”
“We all deserve help. Our backgrounds are meaningless compared to our destinations. The Holy Church does not discriminate.”
The man blinked.
Then, he gave a faint, pained chuckle.
“Damn. Been hearing the Holy Church’s lectures all my life. But I think I’m gonna actually start listening now.”
Rieze returned his smile.
Many had been lost. But one had been saved. And that was worth something.
“The healing spell is still in effect,” she said. “Only the epidermis has been repaired. You won’t be able to move for some time, especially if the wounds you suffered were life threatening.”
“Heh. Yeah. I can sort of tell. Sorry. Looks like I’m gonna have to ask for more help.”
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to leave you here.”
Rieze turned to her suitcase, then began undoing the many clasps.
The leather casing opened a moment later. She reached inside and began fiddling with the correct apparatus for moments like these.
“Say … what brings a sister out here on the road?” asked the man, his voice still barely better than a croak. “You alone? That’s not good. You might meet people like me.”
“I’ve been sent to the Kingdom of Tirea to aid in the Holy Church’s mission to guide the people to betterment. To that end, I must see to the ailing finances of the local chapel so that services remain uninterrupted.”
The man laughed, immediately regretting it as pain met his every gasp.
“R … Really? So even sisters gotta eat, huh.”
“It’s a simple reminder that all of us are made equal, regardless of our places in the world. Of the four cardinal virtues, I consider the aspect of temperance to be the second to most important.”
The man gave a nod, the genuine contrition in that small movement evidence that he was truly listening to the first words by a sister he’d ever received in his life.
“Is that right? … What’s the most important, then?”
Sister Rieze stood up. She offered a bright smile, then pointed her consecrated crossbow down at the man’s shocked face.
“Justice.”
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***Sister Rieze, 12th of the Sonneritters’ mini-arc 1/4.***
Sister Rieze banged the side of her head against a rock.
An odd thing for any grown woman to do. But there was no way around it. The wind sweeping across the sheer cliff was so bad she was being practically assaulted with each and every inch she climbed. Especially as she was also carrying a large suitcase.
But it wasn’t so bad. Not at all.
And if she told herself that enough, then she’d even begin to believe it.
“Huff … Huff … uff … ughh … arrghhhhhhh!!”
Rieze was beside herself with annoyance.
Today was her 29th birthday. And that meant she was officially almost 30. Each day, that terrible number came closer. And while everyone else ran their own businesses, owned a nice cottage in the countryside and hired a tutor to teach their kids how to play the piano, Rieze had spent almost all 29 of those years slaving away in the Holy Church’s premier secret military cabal.
And her reward on this special day?
Climbing a cliff.
She paused, gathered a ball of phlegm in her mouth, then spat into the abyss below.
And she thought last year’s expired gift certificate was bad.
The disrespect was palpable! She didn’t want to be climbing a cliff! She wanted a promotion, a pay rise and better holiday allowances!
But oh noooo. Knowing her peers, she’d been set up to fail. That’s why she was climbing a cliff instead of deciding which kingdom’s beaches she’d be spending her gratuitous holiday allowance on this year.
They didn’t want her getting a promotion. Because that’d mean someone else getting a demotion. And nobody wanted healthy competition in an organisation where everyone else was happy with their lot in life.
And so Sister Rieze remained as the 12th of the Sonneritters.
The least of them, as her number constantly reminded her. And were she anyone else, she’d pack her bags and go join the Cowled Magisters, the Shadow Minstrels or maybe even Lotus House. The heavens only know how many times one of their brochures ended up in her pockets.
Which was bizarre. Since her sister’s habit didn’t even have pockets.
That, she admitted, was impressive.
But no. Rieze just had to refuse to quit. She’d been set up to fail. And so instead of allowing her very well rounded frustrations to consume her, she smiled instead.
The Grandmaster’s eye was always wandering. And when climbing a cliff, Rieze was ever so hard to miss.
Even now, she could feel the gaze upon her, watching expectantly to see if she’d rise or fall. Well, Rieze only had one choice on the matter. The other meant doom. And not just for her career prospects.
Once again, Rieze bumped her head against a rock.
“Grrrrrrrrr!!”
She gritted her teeth, then continued climbing.
Again, she convinced herself it wasn’t so bad. After all, having her forehead colliding awkwardly with a cliff was also a method to numb the greater pain in her head.
Division of trauma. A useful strategy.
More than once she’d purposefully stubbed her toe to lessen the horror of listening to another sinner’s sorrow over philandering, gambling or stealing.
True, headbutting a cliff while constantly swapping a large suitcase between her tired hands was a bit too successful on the distraction gauge. But climbing a mountain dominated by vertical cliffs wasn’t something she’d done before.
Yes … just as dealing with the fallout of not having enough repenting sinners to absolve through donations was something she’d never done before, either.
And that, currently, hurt her head more than anything else.
Frankly, she’d never once considered finances to be a problem. Not because the Holy Church was above such matters as crowns. But because sinners were everywhere. They were mice flocking to a wedge of cheese between the corpses of two other mice who’d previously fought for it.
But now?
Apparently, they’d disappeared and attained some standards in morality.
And that was terrible.
Because despite all the talents, wisdom and experience Rieze possessed, solving the ailing finances of the Holy Church in this tiny region of this tiny kingdom wasn’t a task she was suited to at all.
In fact, she had no idea how to go about this.
She was a sister. A sister who did things so illegal she sometimes wanted to arrest herself. She was certainly no accountant. Her skills were utterly wasted here.
If the local chapel wanted to earn more revenue, then they needed to hire a troll. But alas, she understood it was too much to hire godless blasphemers for the role. Their only religion was money.
And that’s exactly why they were far more suitable for this than Rieze was.
But everyone knew that already.
Yes … she was under absolutely no doubt.
She’d been set up to fail.
Sadly for her peers, however, Rieze had no intention of doing so. And should she discover a troll atop this cliff, she’d be more than open to listening to a few heathenous viewpoints when it concerned maximising gross profit margins.
Maybe that’s why the Grandmaster sanctioned her expedition to this wasteland of a kingdom. She certainly recognised that donations drying up was as horrifying a prospect as a revival by the Witch of Calamity.
And so she ignored the wind, the cliff, and the carrion crawlers burrowing in and out of it as they fled from her. This was an important mission. Deeply inappropriate for one without any financial acumen. But even so–
She could practically taste that promotion!
The 11th seat … no, maybe so far as the 9th. Everyone knew she was overdue. And no matter which she took, it’d mean at least another 8.5 days of holiday entitlement per year. An outrageous jump.
“Huff … uff … huff …”
Hence why Rieze smiled with enthusiasm as she climbed, her delicate fingers reaching for a jagged protrusion which ripped at her sister’s sleeves.
“Huff … ufff … hhhuuuffff …”
Compared to the last things she did, this was easy. And while she initially complained over her mode of entry, she now wouldn’t have accepted any other method to enter the kingdom.
After all, a private carriage with ample cushioning would just be a needless expense. No, far better to divert any funds available to the dwindling Holy Church in this region. Then she could be rid of this place earlier as well.
“Huff … uffff … huff ………..”
Rieze bit her lips as she peered up, her hand searching for what she hoped would be a sign of her struggle’s end.
She found it at last. Flat ground. And a tuft of grass.
Without hesitating, she lobbed her suitcase, then hoisted herself the final stretch.
She was rewarded by the earth giving way. A problem had she not experienced a similar surprise at the cliffs overlooking the Duchy of Triese. She lunged with all her strength, grabbing the roots of some bramble revealed by the sliding dirt.
It snapped as she lifted herself over, but by then she was safe, crawling across the yellowing grass as parts of the mountain tumbled down without her.
She sucked in a breath.
And then, she looked up.
“Uuuuuuuughhhhhhh.”
This wasn’t the top of the mountain!
In fact, this wasn’t anywhere near it!
Beside her was a road … a long, trailing road stretching upwards, before losing itself around a distant corner. And that meant walking.
Lots of walking.
Rieze gritted her teeth, distressed but still resolute.
Fine. Walking it was. At least she didn’t need to climb the rest of the way.
Plus there was a stream.
She heard it at once, her ears trained by the many times she’d been sent deep into some lightless wilderness to starve or die of thirst.
Rieze dusted off the worst of the soil caking her habit. She could do little about the torn sleeve. A point against her when she returned, but her peers had seen worse.
Thus, she picked up her suitcase and set off, drawn to the promise of respite.
She found it before long. A clear stream running down beside the main trail, bordered by tall grass and lapped at by roots and mountain hedgehogs alike. She tickled one’s nose when it came to join her in indulging in the water.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh …”
Rieze knelt down and drank from her palm.
Briefly, she spied her reflection peering back at her. The face of someone so offensively plain that she was often lost in a crowd without her distinctive habit. And now she could barely see herself past her messy, wispy hair. It was the colour and consistency of straw, first beaten then chewed on by a horse.
In short, exactly how she felt.
Soon, Rieze rose to her feet and resumed her trek towards the town of Stermondt.
She didn’t expect her prayers for a passing carriage to be answered. She looked less like a sister of the Holy Church and more a smuggler ferrying wine from Granholtz. A trade which had recently slowed, and not only because of the border restrictions. The people here truly were becoming more pious in their dealings.
They were no longer stuck in their criminal ways.
Again. Terrible.
Yet there were always shadows cast by the light. No matter how prosperous the people or how good their hearts, all flocks were not exempt from their strays. And it filled Rieze’s heart with no small amount of relief to know that this was no different in the Kingdom of Tirea.
Indeed, she did not need to walk far before she smelled the first hints of something awry in this small kingdom.
Blood.
A smell she recognised well.
All sisters were first and foremost healers. Though the Holy Church meant different things to different people, all knew it as a place of sanctuary to heal bodily injuries, sooth illnesses and, for the wealthiest, remove diseases. But whether a trainee sister or a seasoned cleric, all were adept to the smell of the wounded.
In this world, there was never a lack of it.
Rieze immediately hurried her strides. Purpose guided her footsteps, her veil flowing behind her to the breeze as she followed the odour pervading the air. And then she followed the cries.
“..... Uuhhhghhgh …..”
Breaking into as much of a run as her awkward habit could allow, Rieze swiftly headed up the trail. It widened into a clearing, the trees making way to reveal a scene of devastation. Of bloodshed.
But not of battle.
Even though weapons and armour could be seen spilled in every direction, it did not take a trained eye to see that whatever had occurred here, it had been as much a fight as it was when a farmer flung a slug from their crops.
The bodies of armed men lay crumpled around the clearing, their bloodied corpses staining the grass. In some cases, it was difficult to discern where one body ended and another began. They were physically torn asunder, as though ripped by the jaws of some great beast.
And yet if that had been the case, there would be less of them.
Most beasts, after all, didn’t leave their spoils of war behind. They consumed them. And then turned them into fertiliser.
This was a massacre. Yet given the prodigious amount of bodies and equipment lying around, a massacre for no reason other than the sake of it.
Rieze looked down upon the nearest felled body, and saw only expressions locked in fear, mouths still in the midst of a scream.
She also saw their attire.
Patchwork armour and blackened, almost blunted weapons. Some of the blood on them had already long since dried.
Men of the road. Bandits.
“Uuuuhhhhhgh …..”
A groan caught Rieze’s attention.
The only discordance amongst the silence.
Ignoring the fallen, Rieze swept around the killing field, eventually finding a body betraying signs of life. He wore the same tired armour as the others, his back to the grass as his hand clutched at a sharp gash across his thigh.
Rieze’s footsteps neared.
As her figure blocked the sun, the man opened his eyes–and immediately cracked a thin smile.
“Heh,” he croaked. “A sister? … Does that mean I’m already on my way?”
Rieze blinked down at the man.
A distraction. A detour. But she was still a sister, even if she was of the Sonneritters. And that meant appearances needed to be maintained.
She offered a smile warm enough to soothe any wound. Except this one. Because this one was bad. And so she lowered her suitcase instead, kneeling to examine the injury.
“Not yet,” replied Rieze. “What happened here?”
The man coughed, bringing his other hand and the dagger still within it resting against his side.
“An ambush … irony, huh?”
“An ambush?”
“Yeah. We got word a merchant was coming up this way. Figured it’d be an easy day out. Didn’t expect to get ambushed ourselves.”
The strength of his smile increased as a sardonic expression flashed across his face.
“Figured I might as well confess. You know, just in case.”
He coughed again, a spittle of blood evidence of internal bruising or puncture.
Rieze reassessed him.
Very bad. Still, he would live. Especially if it were her hands that healed him.
She took in a deep breath, then clasped her hands together in prayer, drawing flecks of gold towards her like moths to candlelight.
“Who ambushed you?”
The man’s eyes glanced over the light. He relaxed. A little too much. A trickle of blood flowed past the hand covering his gash.
“Not who. What. A monster. A true monster.”
“Which monster?”
“I can’t … I can’t tell you. I couldn’t see. None of us could. It was like a … like a shadow. One second it was there. The next it was everywhere else. Just blood. Blood everywhere. And darkness. I don’t know what happened or where it went … don’t even know how I’m still alive.”
Rieze nodded, her eyes glancing over some of the bodies as she slowly parted her hands. She guided the golden light over the gash.
“[Sacred Heal].”
At once, the wound began to close.
No different than a ripped toy being sewn together by a seasoned seamstress, the flesh and skin came together, cajoled by the warmth of holy magic.
The power of miracles.
Yet even amongst those who dedicated their entire lives to the art of healing, few could do so with as much expertise as Rieze. Even within the closed ranks of the Sonneritter, she stood out for her affinity with holy magic.
The man gave a sigh of relief, his hand falling away from the gash.
Then, he coughed again, the wounds beneath his patchwork armour not yet attended to. Rieze swept her hands across his chest, using the last of her spell to soothe whatever bruising lay hidden underneath.
He immediately sucked in a deep breath.
“Thanks,” he croaked, clarity entering his eyes as he looked up at the smiling figure with messy, wispy hair. “I … I didn’t want to ask for help. Didn’t know if I should. I don’t really deserve it.”
“We all deserve help. Our backgrounds are meaningless compared to our destinations. The Holy Church does not discriminate.”
The man blinked.
Then, he gave a faint, pained chuckle.
“Damn. Been hearing the Holy Church’s lectures all my life. But I think I’m gonna actually start listening now.”
Rieze returned his smile.
Many had been lost. But one had been saved. And that was worth something.
“The healing spell is still in effect,” she said. “Only the epidermis has been repaired. You won’t be able to move for some time, especially if the wounds you suffered were life threatening.”
“Heh. Yeah. I can sort of tell. Sorry. Looks like I’m gonna have to ask for more help.”
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to leave you here.”
Rieze turned to her suitcase, then began undoing the many clasps.
The leather casing opened a moment later. She reached inside and began fiddling with the correct apparatus for moments like these.
“Say … what brings a sister out here on the road?” asked the man, his voice still barely better than a croak. “You alone? That’s not good. You might meet people like me.”
“I’ve been sent to the Kingdom of Tirea to aid in the Holy Church’s mission to guide the people to betterment. To that end, I must see to the ailing finances of the local chapel so that services remain uninterrupted.”
The man laughed, immediately regretting it as pain met his every gasp.
“R … Really? So even sisters gotta eat, huh.”
“It’s a simple reminder that all of us are made equal, regardless of our places in the world. Of the four cardinal virtues, I consider the aspect of temperance to be the second to most important.”
The man gave a nod, the genuine contrition in that small movement evidence that he was truly listening to the first words by a sister he’d ever received in his life.
“Is that right? … What’s the most important, then?”
Sister Rieze stood up. She offered a bright smile, then pointed her consecrated crossbow down at the man’s shocked face.
“Justice.”
kayenano
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