"The divine need no armies; their worshippers gladly kill for free" -Sir Vulf Herrmann Albrecht

Her back slumped against the cold crumbling bricks of a once great wall. Looks like being impaled with a sword through the chest hurts more than being shot in the same vicinity.

—Heh, looks like I won our bet...

The Tyrant's vision grew hazy, words muddling her mind, her lips too dry to put any of them to tongue. She lifted her hand from a puddle of warmth, examining it closely. Blood, her blood, oozed out from her chest and pooled around her as if trying to offer some sort of comfort. Her hand shivered.

She had felt death creep up on her many times before. She recognized how its cold breath tickled the back of one’s neck, how its hands slowly squeezed on one’s chest, forcing them to let out more air than they could take in. But this time, unlike the others, death's embrace was not something she fought to escape.

—No...not this time.

.

.

.

The man scrambled atop his horse, dashing through the forest and cradling a sack of gold in his unoccupied arm, close to his chest. He kept looking back, cold sweat trickling down his forehead and tracing a line to his chin, eventually dropping to the ground.

Suddenly his horse tripped on something, the man's eyes widening as he realized he had ridden straight into their trap, flying off his mount and rolling across the ground; most certainly breaking a few bones.

"You know, you really shouldn't have run away like that. Would have saved you some pain."

The calm voice of a commander called out, as twenty figures emerged from the bushes surrounding the two, a few perched upon tall branches, their crossbows pulled back in preparation as if waiting for an excuse to unleash a hail of arrows.

The creatures were all human in appearance, all of them, however, sporting animalistic features. Tails, ears, claws, some fur forgotten by evolution.

The leader stepped closer to the beaten-down man.

"G-get away from me!" the man stammered up to his feet.

"Oh, relaaaxx. We are only here for your gold."

"L-liar! I know you filthy beastmen! I know what you do!"

"And just what is it we do?"

"Y-you eat humans! Y-y-you just can't resist the taste of flesh!"

The man shivered in horror, as a few beastmen around the two cackled lowly.

"Correct." The leader smirked, getting closer and brandishing his knife.

Suddenly, one of the beastmen pointed to the sky. "LOOK!"

What looked like a falling star shot downward, heading directly to their location.

"Stay alert!" the leader barked, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt and dragging him closer to the rest of the gang.

The shooting star plummeted into the ground between them all, blowing a cloud of dust upward, causing it to coat the area. A few beastmen coughed.

Then, a scream.

The leader looked around rapidly, turning his head toward the scream.

Another scream to the opposite side. And another one.

Even with his keen ears, the beastman leader couldn't make out the location of the aggressor. He held a knife to the throat of the man.

As the screen of dust cleared, the scene before him was horrific, causing him to throw away his prisoner and start vomiting the contents of his dinner in response to the gore around him.

All of his men were slaughtered, hanging off branches, laying against trees, or spread across multiple meters of length. The crimson coating of this place made the part of the forest they were in look off-season.

In front of him was a young girl, no older than twelve. She had medium-length red hair climbing upwards at the tips as if defying gravity. Her eyes were cold as they examined him, like some piece of meat. She wore a simplistic white robe, wearing no armor.

"Beastman," she spoke in a cutesy voice, as misleading as her prim appearance, stepping closer as the blood on the ground parted, as if afraid of making contact with her.

"For the crime of extortion, possession of stolen goods, blackmail, and violence towards Pope Alexander and his good people, you and your people are hereby sentenced to swift death in the name of our god, Leopold."

"You wenc-"

A kick made the man's face collide with the ground in a painful crunch.

"You may not waste your words on me. But you may pray to our Lord Savior Leopold, if you so please."

"Go die in a dit--"

Before he could finish his sentence, the beastman's head disconnected from his shoulders, his eyes blinking, having not registered what had occurred.

The young girl then approached the cowering man on the ground, placing hands upon his chest and smiling. It seemed nothing more was needed for him to trust her. She was a follower of the Lord Savior Leopold, after all.

Golden light emanated from her fingertips, easing even the back pain the man had carried from riding a horse all these years of his miserable life.

"T-Thank you, young lady. What is your name, if I may?"

"I am named Isabel Gottschuld, but you may call me Bell, friend."

"A name as elegant as its mistress! And how is a poor man such as myself to thank you?"

Isabel shook her head, a cherishing smile still plastered upon her face.

"Make sure to keep up your prayers to our Lord Savior Leopold, of course."

"I-I will!" the man called almost proudly, jumping up to his feet mesmerised by his saviour as she did the same, if more elegantly, that is.

"Bell!" a young woman's voice called out as she and a dozen other armored knights clad in the same holy white as Isabel crossed into the suddenly cleaned-up forest clearing.

"What were you thinking, running off on your own like that?!"

The woman had royal golden hair, shining almost perfectly in the torchlight, trailing behind her as she guided her horse to a stop.

Another man clad in armor rode up behind her, a smile confidently spread across his face.

"Could have at least saved some of the heretics for us, y'know." He laughed to himself and winked, getting a scornful gaze from the woman.

"Sir John you know our Lady Alexa hates the glorification of death, and Lady Alexa, I apologize for rushing off. Sadly the beastmen would not have waited for us to arrive on horseback--Did you grab Arthur?"

"Right here," Sir John spoke, pointing to a soldier settled on his own horse and holding onto the leash of a magnificent white steed with a blonde mane behind him.

Sir John was muscular under all of that armor, with a boyish face and short brown hair. His looks would fool even the keenest of combatants, but Isabel knew better. Nobody was his equal when it came to wielding a blade. Well, none other than Vulf, that is.

—But he left the church...

Isabel's face contorted in disgust at the thought as she bit onto her right thumb, covered by a  pristine white leather glove.

"Bell?" Lady Alexa asked, raising a careful eyebrow. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, apologies. Shall we head back?"

"If we hurry, we might still make it before breakfast!" Sir John bellowed a laugh as the contingency of knights began riding from whence they came.