Heresy, Hygiene, and Chains

The confrontation I’d been dreading came sooner than expected.

I was just heading downstairs for breakfast — and, more importantly, my first drink of the day — when I came face to face with a scene that made me seriously consider turning around and barricading myself in my room.

Right in the middle of the common room sat Father Matthias, the Temple’s self-proclaimed divine watchdog, flanked by two immaculate-robed acolytes and a small cluster of the town’s pious busybodies. He looked exactly like every religious fanatic I’d met in my previous life: tall, scrawny, radiating smug holiness, with perfectly combed graying hair and suspiciously spotless hands that had clearly never touched a shovel or done a day’s work.

Pururun, nestled inside my satchel, stiffened instantly. She could smell trouble as well as I could.

"Ah!" the priest exclaimed as he spotted me descending the stairs. "So here is the so-called ‘healer’ everyone has been talking about."

He pronounced the word healer as though it were a contagious disease. Marta, behind the counter, threw me an anxious look, while Lena clung to her mother’s arm, visibly terrified.
For once, her usual playful morning greeting and cheeky jokes about haunting my dreams almost felt… comforting.

"Good morning to you too," I replied dryly as I took my usual seat. "Let me guess — this is the part where you give the friendly priestly welcome speech?"

Matthias rose to his feet, adjusting his robes with theatrical flourishes that already made me want to punch him.
"I am Reverend Father Matthias, emissary of the Temple of Divine Light. And you are the one spreading… impure substances among the faithful of this community."

"Impure substances?" I raised an eyebrow. "Are we talking about aspirin, soap, and toothbrushes? Because technically, those do the exact opposite. They clean and heal, you see."

A ripple of whispers spread among his companions and the devout locals who had gathered to watch. Matthias raised his hand for silence like a pompous choir conductor.

"You mock us, but your so-called ‘remedies’ disrupt the divine order established by the gods. These… concoctions drawn from the tainted earth can never rival the pure blessings we bestow, drawn from the holy heavens above."

"Ah, yes. Your heavenly blessings." I laughed. "I’ve seen your work. Very impressive — the way you charge a fortune for your ‘miracles’ while letting the poor rot in the streets. Truly divine healthcare!"

Matthias’s face darkened. Around us, the atmosphere grew thick with tension. A small crowd of villagers had gathered at the doorway, drawn by the commotion.

"Blasphemy!" Matthias thundered. "The gods entrusted us with the gift of healing for a reason. We alone are authorized to dispense their blessings according to divine will!"

"Divine will, huh." I rose slowly, my voice gaining a sharper edge. "Let me tell you my perspective, Reverend Father. A real ‘healer,’ as you call it, should treat anyone, no matter their wealth. Diseases don’t give a damn about bank accounts."

I took a few steps toward him, feeling Pururun shift nervously in my satchel.

"Healing and proper hygiene prevent epidemics. What’s the point of treating only the rich if the poor next door are spreading diseases that will inevitably reach your precious benefactors?"

Matthias faltered, clearly not used to being challenged with actual logic.
"You… you dare question the divine order itself?"

"The divine order of your gods?" I sneered. "Let’s talk about that order. A system where only those who can pay get to live? Where children rot in the streets while you parade around in blinding white robes? Bravo. Truly compassionate."

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. Some nodded in approval; others stared at me in shock. Marta and Lena looked at me with a mix of admiration and terror. Standing up to someone like Matthias in public was practically suicidal in this country.

"All men bleed the same," I shouted. "Noble or beggar, merchant or orphan, the blood in your veins is the same color: red. Microbes don’t care about full purses or empty stomachs!"

Matthias was now crimson, his hands shaking with barely contained fury.
"How dare you… How dare you compare the gods’ chosen to the vermin of the slums?! The noble and the devout deserve our care — they maintain divine harmony! The rest are nothing but — "

"Nothing but what?" I cut him off sharply. "Trash? Subhumans? That’s your theology?"

Silence fell over the inn like a blade. Even his acolytes looked uneasy.

"Let me tell you what I think of your so-called ‘divine harmony,’ Reverend Father. It’s a business. A damn business wrapped in holy packaging. You sell hope to the desperate and privileges to the privileged. You’re miracle peddlers, not healers."

"BLASPHEMER!" Matthias finally exploded. "Guards! Arrest this man! He insults the gods and corrupts the weak-minded!"

Only then did I notice the armed men lurking near the door. They moved forward as Pururun half-emerged from my bag, ready to pounce, but I stopped her with a discreet gesture.

"Easy, jelly," I muttered. "Let’s not turn Marta’s inn into a warzone."

I raised my hands in mock surrender, wearing my best sarcastic smile.
"Alright, alright. I see constructive dialogue isn’t your strong suit. Marta, Lena — thanks for the hospitality. It’s been a pleasure."

"Ethan, no!" Lena cried, her voice breaking. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over as she instinctively tried to run to me. Marta held her back, but she struggled against her mother’s grip with desperate, trembling hands. For once, there was none of her usual teasing spark — just raw, terrified emotion.

Our gazes locked for a heartbeat. In her eyes, I saw panic, disbelief… and something that twisted deep inside my chest. She wasn’t just worried — she was afraid of losing me.

Marta’s own eyes were wet, her jaw clenched as she held her daughter tighter. A few villagers muttered half-hearted protests, but most kept their heads down, unwilling to cross the Temple.

"Don’t worry about me!" I called out to the room. "I’ve survived worse. Let’s see how their gods feel about executing someone whose only ‘crime’ was treating the sick for free!"

As they shackled my wrists, Matthias declared with smug satisfaction,
"Justice will be served! This man will pay for his crimes against divine order!"

"Crimes?" I barked a laugh, turning toward him. "My only crime is getting results where you’ve failed. Hurts the ego, doesn’t it?"

His glare could’ve burned holes through steel.
"Enjoy your last hours, blasphemer. Tomorrow you will stand before Lord Aldwin, and I will personally demand your execution!"

"Charming," I shot back. "I hope the show’s at least entertaining. Better than your sermons, anyway."

As they dragged me away, I glanced at Pururun peeking worriedly from my satchel. I gave her a quick reassuring wink. This confrontation had always been inevitable. Better to face it here, where I still had a few allies.

The real question was: would the local lord be smart enough to see through the Temple’s holy BS?

I was about to find out.