Ch 4.4

The port city of Barville bustled from dawn to dusk, its streets packed to the brim with labourers and merchants shouting over one another. Most of them were beastmen—by far the dominant race here—moving with purpose through the noise and grit. Among the crowd, however, two figures stood out: Ben, his crimson hair bright as a beacon, and beside him, a young nun dressed in sombre black.

As they threaded through the throng, Ben noticed the looks. It wasn’t unusual for him to draw stares—humans were uncommon enough—but this time, every glare was aimed at the woman walking beside him.

They’re all glaring at her, he realised.

The girl, lost in her thoughts, didn’t notice. She kept her eyes down, expression heavy with quiet guilt, still mourning her failure to save the enslaved children. She had no idea just how hated she was here.

The Church of Virtues had long branded beastmen as impure—a race closer to wild mana beasts than to humans or elves. The resentment rooted deep, but it had flared into true hatred two decades ago, when the tribes near the human kingdoms began vanishing. Survivors claimed that not just men, but the Heavenly Virtues themselves, had slaughtered their kind—the very beings sworn to protect the peoples of the realm.

Whether truth or rumour, the story ignited a purge. The Isle’s beastmen tribes severed all ties, razed every temple of Virtue on the continent, and butchered the priests who remained. The Church denied the accusations, but the wound never healed.

Now, twenty years later, the Church was trying once again to reclaim lost ground—to rebuild trust, and replant its banners on a continent that had sworn never to bow to its light again.

“Hey, you!” Ben called out.

The nun didn’t respond—still staring off, lost in thought.

“I’m talking to you, church girl,” he said louder.

At last, she blinked back to awareness. “Huh? I do have a name,” she said, frowning.

“And that is?”

“Chloe. Chloe Worth.”

Before Ben could reply, a large beastman shouldered past, nearly knocking her over. Chloe stumbled but caught herself.

The brute turned, glaring. “Watch where you walk.” He flicked his sleeve as if she’d stained it, then spat at the ground. “You soiled my clothes, human.”

It was no accident—he’d shoved her on purpose.

Ben’s jaw tightened, feeling the rising hostility around them.

Chloe’s brows furrowed, anger flashing. “You should be the—”

“Stop it,” Ben cut in sharply. “We don’t need trouble.” He glanced at her outfit—the conspicuous black-and-white robes. “We should get you something else to wear. That uniform will get you killed.”

“This is the church’s dress code,” she muttered defensively. “I have twelve just like it.”

“We’re going shopping,” Ben said flatly.

“I will not wear anything else!” she shot back, firm and defiant.

The women’s clothing shop was a riot of colour and frills, the air heavy with perfume and chatter. Ben stood near the entrance, arms folded, trying to ignore the curious and resentful stares from beastwomen and elves alike; a human man was clearly out of place here.

He exhaled and waited. In front of him, the curtain to the fitting room stirred.

When it opened, a bright voice chimed, “So—how do I look?”

Chloe stood there beaming, brown hair tied up in a neat bun, blue eyes sparkling. She twirled once in her new dress—a soft brown frock with long sleeves and lace trim—and grinned.

Ben blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Weren’t you just complaining a minute ago? Now look at you.”

Chloe puffed her cheeks.

“Well, it’s true—I shouldn’t be wearing anything other than my black robes. But as you said, I need to blend in. So if we’re doing that, I might as well go all out and look my best. What do you think? How do I look?”

She laughed and twirled again, the brown dress flaring around her like sunlight on water.

Ben gave a long, defeated sigh. “Yes, yes, it looks good on you.”

Chloe turned to the mirror, lifting the hem of her frock and checking herself from every angle.

“I look like a doll, don’t I? I wish the rest of my sisters could see this.”

“You look adorable,” Ben admitted, then pointed. “But hide that pendant of yours.”

A silver pendant hung at her chest—its cross‑within‑a‑circle emblem marking her clearly as a sister of the Church of Virtues.

Chloe nodded and tucked it back into her bodice, pressing her palms together in a quick prayer.

“Lord, please forgive me. Your daughter will wear these clothes only until we reach your new abode. Thank you for your understanding.”

Ben watched her quietly, eyes narrowing. Her words sounded sincere, but he couldn’t shake a trace of doubt. Trusting someone from the Church didn’t come easily—not for him.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s go. You’re paying for it, by the way.”

“What?” Chloe froze. “Ah—my pouch!”

Panic crossed her face. “I gave it to the lizardman earlier—he must’ve—!”

Ben reached into his coat and held up the small bag.

“You really are a ditz,” he said dryly. “I picked it up before things got ugly. You need to keep better track of your stuff.”

Chloe exhaled in relief and smiled. “Thank you very much, Ben.”

She paid for the dress, still flustered, and together they stepped out into the crowded street once more.

Ben and the young nun, Chloe, were back on the bustling street. The glares from earlier had softened—still curious, still wary, but no longer openly hostile. The crowd thinned near the market square where the smell of salt and incense mingled, and the distant cries of dockhands echoed from the port.

“Now, we should look for that wolfman—” Ben muttered, scanning the moving throng, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Hey, Ben,” Chloe called from behind.

Ben turned slightly, brow arched. She stood a few paces away, cheeks flushed from walking, but her eyes were bright—alive with some sudden spark.

“What?”

“The thing you said before,” she said, smiling in that unshakable way she always did. “It resonated with me.”

Ben blinked. “Uh… you mean the part where I called you a ditz?”

Chloe’s brows drew together. “Not that, you dummy!” She stepped closer, irritation giving way to earnestness. “I meant what you told me back on the rooftops.”

Ben remained silent, waiting. The street noise swelled around them—a wagon creaked past, merchants shouted prices—but Chloe’s voice carried through quietly.

“When you said, ‘Be the saviour you wish others to be,’” she began, eyes drifting toward the distant sea, “it struck something in me. All this time, I’ve been walking a path others laid down—a path carved by hands already stained. The Church I served was supposed to save, but it’s fallen into the same sins it condemns.”

Ben folded his arms, saying nothing, his eyes flicking between her and the crowd.

Chloe smiled faintly, though her gaze stayed fixed on the horizon. “So I’ve decided—I won’t walk their road anymore. Instead of waiting for someone to fix the world, I’ll become that person. I’ll tear down the walls of hate that divide us. Because the light of the Lord isn’t meant for just one race—it shines for all. Human, elf, dwarf, beastman—it doesn’t matter. We’re all his children, yet we bleed each other dry in his name.”

Ben frowned. “You think just saying that will change them? The Church will never mend its ways. The rot runs too deep.”

She turned to him then, her blue eyes glowing with conviction. “Then I’ll plant something new before that rot spreads here. On this continent, the Church has no roots yet. I’ll build one of my own—a church that welcomes everyone beneath a single roof, where no one’s turned away for the blood they were born with.”

Ben stopped walking and gave her a disbelieving stare. “What are you getting at?”

Chloe puffed her chest, fire flashing in her face. “I’ll start my own branch of the faith—an Unorthodox Church of Virtue. One that preaches love without borders and teaches what the Lord truly meant: unity, compassion, and acceptance. I’ll show the people of the Isle that holiness isn’t decided by blood or race.”

Ben just blinked, dumbfounded. “A new church? You realise that’s heresy, right? The Church will execute you the moment they hear of it.” He rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “You couldn’t even handle a few lousy beastmen. Maybe focus on surviving before you start founding religions.”

“Hey!” Chloe stomped after him as he started walking again. “I’m being serious!”

Ben waved her off, eyes scanning the busy street. “Good luck with that, Sister. Right now, I’m more worried about finding our mysterious wolfman.”

“I mean it!” she insisted, trotting to keep up. “You’ll see. I’ll build it with my own two hands—maybe even change the world!”

Ben didn’t slow down.
“Sure. Let’s just survive the next few days first, Miss Prophet.”

Chloe puffed her cheeks, glaring at his back as he disappeared into the flow of people.

“Hey! That’s sacrilege—get back here and wait for me!”

She hurried after him, her words swallowed by the roar of the marketplace as the two figures blended back into the living tide of Barville.