Paladin

“Take them down, Keihart.”

In an instant, two men burst out from the shadows, twisting the arms of Liel and Morrigan behind their backs before forcing them to the ground. From the haze of snowfall, a man with a messy beard and pitch-black hair emerged, looking down at them with a grim expression. On the side of his face, he had a rune just like Liel’s, but it was a dark colour, like normal ink.

‘He’s a Paladin! But his Siltte is dead! Is he corrupted by Horror, or is he… an Oathbreaker?’

When one broke their oaths, as Liel was planning to do, the Siltte that was responsible for rune activation on their face would wither and die, turning a dark colour, almost alike to when it was killed and corrupted by Horror. The rune would become useless, a permanent brand of their misdeeds as a servant.

As she glanced over at the other figure that emerged beside him, with a head of scraggly blonde hair and blue eyes, she saw the swirling silver rune on his face and let out a sigh of relief. They were Paladins. The man before him was truly an Oathbreaker, not a Vassal of Horror.

When the Oathbreaker squatted down in front of her, he spotted the silver rune on her face, his eyes widening.

“Ah, you’re…”

Liel glanced back towards Morrigan, but he had instinctively changed his face using Mistus’s false face, resembling the black-haired Bard she had seen during the Hallflower festival. He had obscured his Red Rune, and so he wasn’t in fear of being discovered by the Paladins.

“Let them go, Keihart. They’re with us.”

“Torres, you aren’t going to check them? Not after what happened with Laisson?”

“Laisson was a fool. Do you really want to have a woman remove her clothes in this cold just so you can check if Horror is clinging to her, Graham?” The black-haired Oathbreaker, Torres chided.

The man named Graham let out an audible ‘tsk’, turning away from Torres. “You’re no fun.” He turned towards Liel, smiling slightly. “You’re a Paladin, but what about your friend?”

“A comrade.” Liel replied succinctly as she sat up from where the man, Keihart, had been holding her down. Her suspicion dissipated slightly. After all, Paladins were loath to harm one another. It wasn’t exactly prohibited, more like an unspoken rule amongst them.

“What are your names?”

“His name is Morrigan. Mine is Liel. Liel de Astalette.”

Torres’s gaze began to tremor, his smile fading. “Ah, I heard there was an Astalette studying at the Seminary in Sechille, but that was years ago. How long has it been since you’ve graduated?”

“Two weeks, perhaps. Maybe a bit more.”

“The Templar sent you to the front lines so freshly out of the Seminary? How bad can we be struggling for reinforcements if we have to use Scholars?”

Liel shook her head to this statement. “There was an attack on Alfheim a few months ago, so I’m sure they’ve rerouted some of your comrades to fight there. But I’m not associated with the Templar. I’m a Crusader who was sent to bless the harvest of a Town in Southern Sechille. Morrigan and I stumbled upon a Ritual taking place in the Town, led by their Elders and Chieftain. The Chieftain murdered many of his own children, using their deaths as points in a ritual that opened a gateway to Faust. The Chieftain was killed, and we went to pursue the surviving Elders.”

She was blurring the truth slightly, but she would rather that the man who saved her life didn’t come under too much suspicion, even if he was a Red.

“Ah, if it’s the case that they came here, they might be trying to join up with the Roamers…” Another man who had appeared out of the shadows beside Keihart to hold down Morrigan spoke out.

“Aye, Carris.” Graham nodded his head.

“Roamers?” Liel questioned.

“They’re a group of Vassals that we’ve been pursuing. It’s been almost a year now… the man leading them is a traitor. He was part of our group, but he was corrupted. We’re going to kill him.”

“Ciaphas…” Morrigan whispered under his breath, grinning wildly as he raised his head.

“Well, if the Elders you’re pursuing are trying to join up with the Roamers we’re pursuing, then our goals are the same.” Torres reached out his hand to Liel. “Would you like to accompany us?”

Liel nodded her head. Just because a Crusader usually worked alone didn’t mean they weren’t prone to accepting help. If the Elders had joined up with a more competent group, just her and Morrigan alone wouldn’t be able to single them out and kill them. Liel accepted his hand, her entire body shivering as a gust of freezing wind rushed past.

“Graham, how many extra furs is Larson carrying?”

“Larson?” Liel questioned.

“The donkey.” In the background, a donkey with two beady black dots for eyes let out a hushed bray. He was carrying several satchels on his back, as well as a stack of large animal furs.

"Four furs, Captain. We gave one to Laisson, but when he was killed, they took the fur along with his body."

"Damn Laisson... if I find him, I'll kill him again." Torres cursed in a joking manner. “That is... if that creature is truly dead...”

"Aye, I would pour out a drink for him, but we're out of liquor."

"We were out of liquor when he was alive. You haven't seen a drop in three years."

"Gods, I want to get drunk..." Carris covered his eyes with his arm as he sat back against a rock, bemoaning his existence.

Torres turned towards Graham, gesturing towards Liel and Morrigan with his head. "Give them two of the furs."

Graham looked towards him hesitantly. "Are you sure, Captain?"

"Look at them. They're freezing to death." Torres replied nonchalantly, leaning his head on his hand as he looked down into the ravine path below. "Give it to them."

Graham took two animal furs from the donkey, walking over to Liel and Morrigan and threw it to them. They quickly draped it over their cloaks, feeling slight relief from the storm.

“Thank you, Sirs.” Liel bowed her head slightly, showing at least a bit of formal respect. If not because they were people she should respect, then because they had saved them from the cold. Even though she had draped the fallen Elder’s cloaks over her own, the cold quickly bit through the fabric.

Liel suddenly felt a presence piercing the side of her face. Her gaze gradually focused on a point in the dark, where two bright-orange eyes glared at her from afar. Because they had appeared atop a ravine-laden path, they were separated by a large slice in the landscape, but it still sent a shiver down Liel’s spine.

"There's someone staring at us... in the darkness."

"Yes." Torres replied casually, striking a piece of steel against flint towards a pile of tinder he had buried in a hole. "Don't stare at them back, or they'll start to think they're allowed to move closer to us. They aren't."

"They aren't allowed?"

"Do you want to die, Ms. Astalette?"

She shook her head fervently in response.

"Good. Then don't look at it back." He bit into a strip of dried meat, savouring the salty taste and tough texture. "What is your friend cooking?"

He was deliberately attempting to draw her attention away from the mysterious glaring figure, Liel recognised. He didn't want her to be scared, perhaps. She smiled slightly, deciding to comply.

Liel glanced over towards Morrigan, who had lit a low fire in a hole in the snow, placing the strips of meat he had obtained earlier directly over the embers. It was like he already knew what he should do in such a landscape, as if he had accumulated much experience already. Her stomach churned slightly as she recalled the origin of the meat. "Ah... old men."

"A man of taste." Torres chuckled dryly. "You might have some aversion to the idea, but in Faust, you eat what hasn't been touched by Horror. If you don't eat, you die. And the dead are as good as another's next supper."

He handed Liel a strip of the cured meat he had been eating, her gaze furrowing as she stared at it.

"Don't worry, it's not a person. I think it's a horse. Or it might be a dog."

She accepted the meat, looking down at it. It was coarse and rough, coated in large flakes of salt.

'If it was a person, would I still have accepted it? Cannibalism is punishable by death in the Holy Empire... I wonder why the Paladins treat it differently here? Can the need for survival bend culture so drastically?'

She took a bite of the meat, flavour flooding her senses as her eyes brightened. How long had it been since she had last eaten? After being poisoned, her appetite had been dulled. She had no Siltte left to drip onto her food, so she was able to savour the flavour alone. Liel quickly bit down on the rest of the meat, making it disappear quite quickly.

Torres laughed as she watched the girl be overcome with gluttony. Of course, this was a common site in the cold lands of Faust. He reached into his satchel, procuring another strip of meat before handing it to Liel. "Eat up."

She looked at him worriedly. "Won't you run out of rations if you give them all to me?"

Torres shook his head. "If we all die tomorrow, it won't matter how many rations we preserve. Besides, if we manage to catch up to the Roamers, we'll be able to take their supplies."

With a mouth half-full of cured meat, Liel continued to press him for information. "Won't the meat that the Roamers have be corrupted by Horror?"

"No, they still have to mind what they eat. They might have accepted the False Lord's Will and allowed Horror to settle on or within them, but they retain their lucidity. If they don't want to lose the rest of their humanity, they still have to eat like normal. That's why I know they will have suitable rations." Torres began to sip on hot water that had been boiled beside the embers in a metal canister. His entire body became wrapped in warmth, feeling almost as if he weren't in Hel at all.

"Besides, even if we don't find them, we can always butcher Larson." Graham chimed in from behind them, chuckling.

"If it comes to that, we'll eat you first, Graham."

The man's face twisted with confusion and shock. "Huh? Why?"

"Because Larson actually has a use."

This caused Liel to laugh, covering her mouth with her hand in an attempt to suppress this. Noticing the change in her mood, Torres smiled. Carris laughed alongside her, Graham scowling at this. The man named Keihart, a bulky, giant of a man, remained silent, sitting by the embers that Torres had prepared.

‘They remind me of… me and Alice.’