So many ranking church officials had been wounded or killed in the attack. Prior Yordan had been the highest-ranking victim, but far from the lone casualty. The second assailant had slaughtered dozens of frightened clerics and many more city guards who’d responded to the commotion.

  Regardless, the sudden arrival of an itinerant group of preachers from a southern monastic cloister helped bring order to Riverglen just when the city could have devolved into chaos. Calaf and a few surviving guards and congregants who had gotten a good-enough look at the assailant gathered back in the cathedral with the head of these itinerant preachers.

  Since the assassin did not have a proper Interface, witnesses compiled a profile:

  Using Calaf’s description, they even had a sketch for the wanted posters. The rough drawing detailed Jelena’s thick eye patch— no doubt covering wicked scars— and her blood-red eyes, leering with sinister intent. And her sneering lips, practically built for spreading dissent. Yes, this heretic was the antithesis of pure and beautiful Charlotte.

  The itinerant preacher who’d come to their rescue was named Deacon. He’d single-handedly healed a dozen guards from Death’s Door to full health with a wide-area healing spell. All were in awe of his Menu registry:

  Still not higher rank than Charlotte, but level alone was not the end-all, be-all deciding factor as far as church duties were concerned. Life in a monastic cloister gave the man access to all manner of elaborate church-approved healing spells in his interface.

  The few who could provide testament to the perpetrator of these crimes stood in the now-abandoned cathedral main hall. Pryor Yordan’s body had been removed to the subterranean crypts.

  “You there,” Deacon said. “Guard from the sewer. The deaconess informs me that you fought this attacker face to face-and lived to tell of it.”

  “That is true, sir,” Calaf said.

  “Few could hope to confront such a villain and live, certainly without becoming corrupted by her vile heresy and seductive wiles,” said the deacon. “And you’re only level seven? Why, you have a great deal of potential at least.”

  “She dodges. Fights without the aid of the Holy Menu. Sir, what was this woman doing here?”

  Deacon scratched his chin. “Ah, there’d been rumors of movement among dissidents and apostates. In truth, we were sent from the cloister to provide warning to Riverglen that something of this nature could happen. If we’d only arrived but a few hours earlier…”

  The deacon brought out another, crumpled, older wanted poster of their assailant. It was Jelena, features drawn softer, maybe three years younger, lips angled upwards in a slight smile. Eyepatch was nowhere to be found, with a tell-tale marking of the Menu Brand on her left pupil. And she was wearing a plain and unassuming habit.

  Not a higher rank than Charlotte, but level alone was not the end-all, be-all deciding factor. Life in a monastic cloister gave the man access to elaborate church-approved healing spells in his interface.

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  The few who could provide testimony to Jelena’s crimes stood in the cathedral's now-abandoned main hall. Prior Yordan’s body had been removed to the subterranean crypts.

  “You there,” Deacon said. “Guard from the sewer. The deaconess informs me that you fought this attacker face to face and lived to tell of it.”

  “That is true, sir,” Calaf said.

  “Few could face such a villain and live—let alone resist her heretical, seductive wiles,” said the deacon. “And you’re only level seven? Why, you have a great deal of potential at least.”

  “She dodges. Fights without the aid of the Holy Menu. Sir, what was this woman doing here?”

  Deacon scratched his chin. “Ah, there’d been rumors of movement among dissidents and apostates. In truth, we were sent from the cloister to warn Riverglen that something of this nature could happen. If we’d only arrived but a few hours earlier…”

  The deacon brought out another, crumpled, older wanted poster of their assailant. It was Jelena, features drawn softer, maybe three years younger, lips angled upwards in a slight smile. Eye patch was nowhere to be found, with a tell-tale marking of the Menu Brand on her left pupil. And she was wearing a plain and unassuming habit.

  “For you see, we have reason to believe that this Jelena once administered an orphanage at a convent,” Deacon said. “A small outpost, well off the Grand Pilgrimage line. Records are sparse.”

  Calaf nodded, understandingly. It would explain why her interface was scrambled. If she were any old dissident who’d never accepted the Menu into their heart, she wouldn’t have an Interface. And the eye-patch – she’d defiled the holy Brand when she forsook her convent vows for a life of crime, no doubt. She’d taken her Brand out, an act usually reserved for punishment and excommunication. Scouring one's connection to the System and its Interface willingly, particularly on such a sensitive spot... Calaf shuddered at the thought. Jelena was truly too far gone from the path of righteousness to be saved.

  “As for this second assailant, we have only the faintest of descriptions to go by.” Deacon provided an even rougher sketch of a rabid-looking man with long hair and a scraggly matching beard.

  Even this was guesswork, as the deacon explained. Few who’d been close enough to the beast to make out details managed to escape in one piece.

  “He is known as Enkidu. No birth records. Neither is his name on the Wall of Converts.” Deacon nodded solemly.

  No Brand, and therefore no Menu to speak of. Lowlier than even the lowest boar out in the surrounding fields! All this was to say, this second assailant—Jelena’s partner—was born in the wild, far from any Church of the Menu. An outlaw. A feral beast, barely human.

  “We know who planned the attack at least,” Deacon said. “No doubt Jelena’s the mastermind. She set this wild man against our hapless guards to cover her escape.”

  Calaf pondered this all. He’d scarcely seen even a trace of this second attacker. Only overheard the aftermath, by which Jelena had talked about calling the figure off before he struck Calaf down…

  All contemplation was cut short by a commotion at the entrance. A figure muscled his way into the chamber.

  “Gorman?” Calaf asked.

  “Found itinerant preachers from some cloister to the south to heal those initiates,” Gorman said. “Locked the sewer up tight. There are, uh, at least seven Rat Kings down there now. All level sixteen or above.”

  “Level sixteen?” Calaf asked. “Impossible. There aren’t even enough rats in the city for that!”

  Deacon scratched his chin. “So. It’s as we feared…”

  A second guard came through, short of breath. He informed Deacon that there was a commotion at the north gate.

  The guard panted, short of breath. “Something’s wrong with the wildlife. They’re double the expected level for the region. And their aggressiveness—it’s like they’ve gone berserk!”

  Why, that would mean… Calaf did the math, the highest-level nonhuman creature in Riverglen's valley would be level eight normally. That means we’re looking at level sixteen and above.

  New converts were typically level five when they left Riverglen. Pilgrims would be slaughtered if they braved the standard Pilgrimage route!

  Cleric Deacon pondered this development for a long while before speaking again. “The relic thief has pilfered a vital artifact from the Prior’s body. One essential for governing the peaceful cohabitation between man and beast. An ancient bauble passed down from the Heroes of Yore. This will require a response.”

  Just having this disaster afflict the sleepy, low-level glades and heaths of Riverglen was bad enough. But levels scaled exponentially. If a zone towards the end of the Grand Pilgrimage was similarly affected, then doubling the strength of a level eighty-five creature in the Fellmarsh would be a threat that the combined might of every Paladin in the church would struggle to put down.

  “Yes. This is a crisis. Potentially on a scale unseen since the Ancient Heroes of Yore established the church,” Deacon said. “I must report this to the ecclesial council at the end of the line posthaste. But I’ll need guards. Someone intimately familiar with the relic thieves and capable of braving the Grand Pilgrimage route.”

  With that, Deacon turned to Calaf, and Gorman beside him.

  “The sewers will be closed indefinitely until these relics are retrieved,” Deacon said. “We must end this crisis before the season turns.”

  Calaf nodded understandingly. If they couldn’t return the local beasts to their habits by that time, then the yearly Grand Pilgrimage season was in danger.

  “Sentry Gorman,” Deacon began. “Your level should suffice for the new tier of difficulty. Will you fulfill your church-mandated duty and accompany me at least until the next station?”

  “Well, not getting paid until the sewers reopen,” Gorman said with a shrug.

  “And you, Sentry Calaf,” Deacon said. “Though low of level, you have faced the culprit yourself. Will you aid in the pursuit?”

  Calaf let out a knightly bow. “Of course, Deacon. It will be an honor to bring this fiend to justice!”

  They would leave in the morning. Immediately after this briefing with Deacon, Calaf returned to Charlotte’s side. He risked the potentially scandalous maneuver of tenderly placing his hands atop hers.

  “I’ve been summoned to journey down the Grand Pilgrimage line,” Calaf told her. “Possibly to the far end of the Pilgrimage path.”

  He then explained the basics of the latest crisis, and the need to pursue this foul villain and apostate, Jelena.

  “I see. Worry not, dear Calaf. This is an excellent opportunity to strengthen your power under the Menu and to win glory for the church.” Charlotte closed her eyes.

  “Ah, but I only regret not being able to be by your side. There’s no telling when we’ll be back, my love.”

  “Worry not.” Charlotte placed her clasped hands atop Calaf’s own— as intimate as the Menu would allow, without granting a potential reputation-destroying title or status. “For such a great deed, the exalted church elders would smile upon our engagement. Should you earn many more levels, they must surely even move up the date of our betrothal.”

  Indeed, Calaf’s engagement to such a higher-level deaconess was rare and unorthodox. More prestige was required before they could have the church truly sanction their union. It was for that very reason that their betrothal had been in the engagement phase since he started his sewer guarding duties.

  With his goal clear, Calaf made his leave and ran off to prepare for this latest journey.

  screams 'heretic'.