Sanctum Frollo

Our transport waited just beyond the Bronze Ring gates.

A six-legged crystal-beast, known as a Glowspine Hauler. Its translucent skull pulsed with faint, bioluminescent veins as if molten light flowed beneath its shell. Runes glowed faintly across its armored hide, each step leaving shimmering footprints that faded behind it.

The obsidian carriage it pulled was even more intimidating—its panels laced with etched runes of warding, the frame reinforced with a spell that gleamed like liquid moonlight. Inside, the air was thick with cedar and sanctified oil; velvet-padded seats gleamed like they’d never been touched by mortal hands.

A stern, blue-skinned dwarf waited at the reins, his bronze beard braided. He looked at our Church-issued travel scroll, lips pulling into the faintest frown before nodding.

“Hyah! Move, you mangy beast,” he barked, tugging at the Glowspine’s veins on its neck.

The crystal-beast hissed softly, its spiny tail twitching once before it began to lumber forward.

Mira dissolved back into her wraithform as Keiji and I climbed in.

All I could think about was what the Church had in store for us. 

Questions? Definitely. Accusations? Probably. Trouble? Hopefully not.

I hated dealing with the clergy and their suffocating piety. Flowing robes, masks of kindness, eyes sharp with judgment. They treated the world like it was something they owned and the rest of us like we were squatters trespassing on their holy land.

The Kingdom of Halvas was shaped like a great coin, cut into four concentric rings. Each more polished and privileged than the last.

The Bronze Ring: Where all the villagers and the backgrounders lived. Most of us worked with our hands, so sweat and calluses were very common. Beggars lined the mud-licked streets, though I don’t see why. No one had anything to spare here.

The Copper Ring: The streets were wider and cleaner. Think of Copper as a market. Anything could be bought here if you had the coin, ranging from miracle tonics to stolen gemstones. Healers and alchemists displayed their craft openly burning purifiers to lure customers. The Taverns were pretty good, full of music and bards spinning tales about heroes fighting mythical monsters.

The Silver Ring: Quieter and richer. Blessed with steady flows of Magna—the elemental force that suffused the land. It was strongest here because of the Aemari Spring, a natural font of raw Magna that pooled beneath the Silver Ring’s foundations, infusing the air with an invisible weight of magic. It’s no surprise this ring was home to the Mages and nobles who had Magna affinity.

The Gold Ring: I’d only ever heard stories but never actually visited. Here was the Palace of Crowns. Streets were inlaid with gold, so that even the air shimmered with gold dust. It was rumoured that the air there cost coins to breathe. A world apart, literally and figuratively.

Our destination, however, was older, holier, and—if you were a believer—more precious than any palace.

At the very heart of Halvas, where the four rings converged, stood Sanctum Frollo—the cathedral of the Church of Heroes.

It wasn’t simply a building; it was a monument to dominance. A fang of alabaster stone, so tall its spire pierced the cloudbanks and seemed to scrape the sun. The bell tower was a monolith of shadow, long enough to cut across the Kingdom’s sins. Some whispered the stones used to build it were quarried from the deepest dungeons of the old world, soaked in the despair of those who had perished there.

Maybe it was a myth. But standing at its gates, I almost believed it.

We disembarked, the Glowspine’s luminous eyes watching us as if in pity, and were immediately ushered forward by Lucien’s personal clergy. All women, all cloaked in immaculate white dresses.

Inside, though?

It was like stepping into a whole new world..

The air inside was cool and unnervingly still, thick with the mingling scents of iron, myrrh, and cedar incense that burned in suspended braziers. Rows of blue-lit candles lined the walls, their flames flickering without wind, casting a sapphire glow that pooled like water around the polished marble floor.

The cathedral itself was built on a staggering vertical scale. Five ascending tiers of white, cushioned seats curved around the central pulpit like a great opera hall. Each row was connected by spiral staircases of sculpted ivory, the entire arrangement allowing thousands of worshippers to look down upon the sanctum floor.

The stained-glass saints loomed from vaulted arches overhead, eyes of colored crystal staring eternally downward. As I walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they followed us, silently judging, silently condemning.

The pulpit rose like a crown of black stone behind him, and at its apex hung the Church’s sigil—a silver sword piercing a crowned skull.

Lucien stood as we approached, spreading his arms wide with a theatrical grace. He didn’t speak at first. Then he began to clap—slow, deliberate, the sound was deafening in the echoing chamber. One by one, the others followed until the hall was alive with applause.

I’ll admit, the ovation felt good. Even if I knew it wasn’t for me.

Lucien was the kind of man whose presence filled a room before he even spoke. Other than his charm, his other most important trait that ensnared people was his beauty.

His skin was the color of fresh-fallen snow. High cheekbones, a strong jawline softened only by the faintest suggestion of a smile, and deep blue eyes like the ocean with impossibly long gold lashes. His hair was the same gold colour, flowing just beyond his shoulders. He wore his signature white robes, the fabric rippling like light itself, trimmed with enchanted threads of gold.

Around him, his personal clergy —popularly known as Lucien’s Angels stood quietly. Their dresses were white, cut with deliberate precision at the right places to accentuate their perfect forms. A perfect mix of purity and temptation.

Lucien’s gaze lifted, settling on Keiji. His lips curved into the faintest smile.

“Well,” he said, voice soft. “The 51st Hero doesn’t disappoint. We had total faith in you, of course.”

Yeah, right.

Keiji’s mouth opened, probably to ask a dozen questions at once, but I stepped subtly in front of him. If I wasn’t careful, he could spill everything, and even though I didn’t buy his theories, I wasn’t about to let the entire Church hear them either.

“Please,” he said, gesturing toward the long obsidian table set at the base of the dais. “Sit. Both of you.”

Keiji hesitated, fingers tightening on the hem of his garment like it might keep him afloat. I nudged him forward, and together we sat next, the crowd in the upper tiers murmuring.

One of Lucien’s angels glided forward with graceful precision. She carried a silver quill that floated just above a hovering pane of glowing glass. She smiled and set it in front of Lucien, her backside faced toward us.

“This is a transcription spell,” Lucien explained casually, as though we’d asked. “Every word, every breath, is recorded. It’s simply to help us remember what you say.”

A warning. Not a courtesy.

Lucien laced his fingers together, resting his chin on the steeple they formed.

“We heard what happened in the dungeon,” he said. “We’re all… fascinated by your accomplishments, Hero. It’s just mere formality, but we’d like to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Lucien silenced me with a single lifted hand.

He didn’t even look at me when he did it.

Rude.

Keiji stiffened. “We...we tried to save them!” he blurted. “But it was too late. Our healer was injured and couldn’t make it.”

I could feel Keiji’s nervousness from all the way here. At this point, I was prepared for anything. I glanced at the others on the table and noticed Archmage Kryxx, a woman I didn’t know and a weird guy playing with cards.

“Ah,” Lucien said softly, almost tender. “So unfortunate.”

The silver quill scratched silently against the glowing glass, recording every word.

“Keiji, may I call you that?” Lucien asked, ignoring me entirely now and turning his full attention to the boy. “Did you witness anything unusual, perhaps? Anything that didn’t belong… or even someone who shouldn’t have been there?”

There it was.

The question I’d been dreading.

I felt my pulse spike. Running crossed my mind for half a second, maybe vanishing into the neighboring Kingdom and becoming a fugitive, but with Kryxx there, I wouldn’t get far.

No turning back now. Keiji’s next words could seal my fate.

“No,” he said finally, his voice steady. “I didn’t notice anything unusual at all. It was thanks to Master Jacques and his incredible tutelage that I was able to strike the beast we faced. And only through the efforts of my former party members could our survival be possible.”

Lucien’s Angels murmured in unison, a soft ripple like wind moving through tall grass. One leaned close to whisper in Lucien’s ear. His expression didn’t change.

“No unusual activity then,” Lucien phrased it like a question.

“Very well. That is all.”

The quill stopped writing. The transcription glass dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of the cathedral’s blue-lit candles.

“Your next assignment will be relayed to you,” Lucien continued, rising slowly. “Until then, report to the Quartermaster for gear requisitions. Master Jacques will resume your training in the coming days.”

Sigh. That was too close.

I turned to leave when—

“Scrap picker,” Lucien said suddenly, his predator’s gaze cutting to me. “May I have a word?”

My pulse slowed. Do. Not. Flinch.

“Follow Priestess Anna,” he said, gesturing to the angel that was whispering in his ears. “She has a present for you.”

I wasn’t exactly excited. But then again, the Church’s ‘presents’ usually came with strings attached.

And, as it turned out, this one was no exception.

Because my ‘present’… was another corpse.

Credit where it’s due though—the body was at least wrapped up nicely for delivery.

Layers of clean linen, sealed tight with a neat little aroma spell to keep the stench at bay. It was almost…thoughtful.

I’m impressed.

But what makes this corpse different?

“She’s a noble,” priestess Anna spoke, glancing at me, almost like she could hear my thoughts.

I stepped outside and found Keiji waiting for me, standing awkwardly near the Cathedral gates. Unfortunately, our transport was nowhere in sight.

So much for courtesy.

I take back my earlier compliment. This place sucks.

The Church could’ve just used a teleportation rune and sent the body straight to the Bronze. That guy playing with cards looked like a Shadow Mage; he could’ve easily done it. But why would they, when they had me to drag it across half the Kingdom on foot?

I really, really hate the Church.

The journey back was harder without the carriage. By the time we’d cleared the first few miles, the aroma spell had already begun to fade. The faintly sweet scent was replaced by something far less pleasant—a creeping, sour odor that clung to our clothes and hair.

That was extremely worrying.

We had to stop several times along the road, rewrapping the corpse in fresh linen soaked with resin and null-salt, my own alchemical mix designed to slow down rot.

But even my tricks couldn’t hold it back forever.

By the third stop, Keiji’s face was pale and pinched, and even I was struggling to stomach the smell. The body had begun to soften in the worst ways.

I just prayed we wouldn’t be attacked by any beasts.

The last thing I needed was to fight off predators while carrying around their next meal.