Something Smells Like Trouble

We stood in my office. My once-peaceful sanctuary of sloth had been officially and irrevocably transformed into the headquarters for the world’s most dysfunctional X-Files division. The air was thick with tension. Everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to pull a brilliant deduction out of my hat like a stage magician. The only thing I wanted to pull out was a pillow and a “Do Not Disturb for the Next Century” sign.

“Well, Inspector?” Eliza said, her arms crossed. Her tone was the same one she probably used when auditing a budget that was missing a few million gold coins. “You said it’s ‘not a normal curse.’ A vague and entirely unhelpful pronouncement. I require quantifiable data for my report.”

“Indeed, Sir Hero,” Justus added, his hand resting on his sword as if he expected the answer to leap out and attack him. “What evil did you discern with your profound senses? What manner of demon are we facing?”

I leaned back in my chair and took a long, slow sip of the cold tea Marie had left on my desk. I needed to play this carefully. Blurting out “I think your church buddies are trying to vandalize our treasury” to a heavily armed paladin seemed like a bad life choice.

“Alright, settle down, everyone,” I said, putting the teacup down. “Let’s go over what we know by dismantling all of your terrible theories.”

I pointed at Justus. “First, you. It’s not a demon. There’s no brimstone, no sulfur, no lingering scent of existential dread. The magic is too clean. So you can put the holy avenger act on standby.”

Justus looked offended. “But evil takes many forms!”

“Yeah, and this isn’t one of them,” I said, turning my attention to Eliza. “Second, you. It’s not ‘magical gibberish.’ The runes are complex, yes, but they’re structured. There’s a syntax there, a purpose. It’s a language, just not one that’s in any of your nerdy books.”

Eliza’s eyebrow twitched. “An unsubstantiated claim.”

“I’m the Max-Level Hero. The Main Protagonist. All my claims are automatically substantiated by the plot,” I said with a shrug. “Try to keep up.”

Finally, I looked at Marie, who had been watching this with a smug little smile. “And you. It’s not ancient Fae magic. It’s too rigid. Too disciplined. Fae magic is all loops and swirls, like a drunk artist’s signature. This was precise, like a blueprint.”

I let the silence hang in the air for a moment before delivering the punchline. “The magic… it feels pious.”

Edgar, who had been quietly taking notes, dropped his quill. “P-pious, sir?”

“Yeah. Disciplined. Orderly. It has a distinct aura of conviction. A feeling of… righteousness.” I let my gaze drift over to Justus. “In fact, it feels an awful lot like the sacred arts. Holy magic.”

The color drained from Justus’s face. “That’s… impossible,” he whispered.

“Is it?” I asked, leaning forward. “I’m not saying it was one of your pals from the Holy Kingdom. I’m just saying it was made with the same brand of magic. Maybe it’s the off-brand, generic version. Who knows.”

“Blasphemy!” Justus roared, his voice shaking with a mixture of fury and horror. “The sacred arts of the Holy Kingdom of Nazareth are a gift from the heavens! They are used only to smite evil, to uphold justice, and to consecrate holy ground! To use them for such a deceitful, clandestine purpose would be the highest form of heresy!”

Eliza’s eyes, however, lit up with a cold, analytical fire. The lazy hero she’d been auditing had just handed her the biggest case of her career: a potential diplomatic crisis. “Sir Justus,” she said, her voice sharp and precise. “Is there anyone within your Holy Kingdom who would have access to this kind of rune magic? Anyone who might disagree with the current era of peace?”

“Never!” Justus insisted, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “The teachings of the Pontiff are absolute! Our mission is to preserve the peace that the heroes of old fought for! Only a heretic… a radical… only someone from the…”

He trailed off, his jaw tight, as if he’d just realized he’d said too much.

“Someone from where, Sir Justus?” Marie asked, her voice soft, but with an edge of steel. She was no longer an amused spectator; she was a princess sensing a political threat to her kingdom.

Justus looked cornered. He took a deep breath, his pride at war with his duty. “There is… a faction. A splinter group of traditionalists who believe the Pontiff’s path of peace is a mistake.” 

“And what do they believe?” Eliza pressed, her pen flying across her slate.

“They are radicals who romanticize the age of the Demon Kings,” Justus explained, his voice low with contempt. “They believe that peace has made the world weak, decadent, and faithless. They believe that only a great trial, a crucible of suffering and war, can restore humanity's strength and bring them back to the true faith. They see our sacred arts not as a tool to preserve peace, but as a weapon to forge a stronger, more devout world through conflict.”

There it was. The other shoe had just dropped, and it was wearing a steel-toed boot.

It wasn't random curses. It was a plot. A plot by a rival faction within the Holy Kingdom to destabilize Lysvalde, to sow chaos, to maybe even create a crisis so great that the world would be forced into another war. All in the name of making people more religious.

“Great,” I said, slumping back in my chair. “It’s not just a conspiracy, it’s a religious conspiracy. Those are the worst. They always involve long speeches and fanatics who don’t know when to quit.”

My beautiful, lazy, slice-of-life story was officially over. I had been summoned to a world without a Demon King, only to find myself in the middle of a plot by a bunch of idiots who were actively trying to bring back the good old days of misery and suffering.

Eliza was grilling a pale-faced Justus for every detail about this faction. Marie was already discussing the political and military implications with a grim-looking Vince, who had appeared in the doorway. Edgar was trying to figure out how to categorize "heretical terrorist cell" on a sanitation report.

They had a mission now. A purpose. A common enemy.

And I had a massive, throbbing headache that was seriously interfering with my plans for a quiet life. I looked at the chaotic scene in my office, at my new "co-workers," and sighed.

“I need a drink,” I announced to no one in particular. “And then a nap. And then, most likely, another drink.”