Although Eleanor had said that she would return soon, Vance found himself stuck in a long wait. He sat alone in the middle of the noisy House of Turncoats and watched the empty chairs across his table. Every once in a while, he would get the feeling that he should leave and search for a healer. The thought would linger in his mind for a few seconds before he remembered that he was in no hurry. Eleanor had made his Flame of Revival much stronger than before: he now had 7 days to complete his ascension. And even if he had to wait for her for two or three hours, he would still register a net gain.

The only real problem was boredom. He was trapped in a small bubble that he had no interest in leaving. Why should he bother to start a conversation with another Turncoat if he would have to pretend? Why should he join a group of revelers who would later regret every careless word and imprudent action? And why should he use Vermeil Activator and accompany the mindless lot who were sprawled on the floor? When he thought about everything that could go wrong, he felt as though he were the only sane person in this madhouse. Or perhaps he had been interned for paranoia.

Time passed slowly, and his boredom grew more and more. Before it became too unbearable, however, he suddenly noticed a silhouette near his table. He thought Eleanor had returned, but then he looked to his left and saw a woman his age. She had a Flame of Revival weaker than his. Her body was draped in a flowing purple dress decorated with the shiny brown scales of Bogborn Cobras. She was short but also bosomy, and caught between her breasts was a Tectonic Medallion—an item doubling the power of geomancy and a symbol of her status as a Geomancer. She held her scarred hands together in front of her, and from the shivering of her fingers, it was clear that she was nervous.

“Can I help you?” Vance said.

“Um … I … Um …” The Geomancer couldn’t put a few words together.

Then another voice said, “Hey! Why are you sitting all alone, newcomer?”

Vance looked past the Geomancer and saw another woman. This second one was tall and scrawny, with widthless arms and sticklike legs—perhaps signs of malabsorption or some dietary disorder. She wore black-dyed light armor and had a belt of throwing knives around her non-existent waist. Unlike the timid Geomancer, she walked forward and put her hands on the table. Her fingernails were painted rose, and the same color reappeared in a heart tattoo on one side of her neck. Because she was leaning forward, Vance felt as if she was staring at him, and her invisible gaze made him feel uncomfortable.

“Hello? Anybody there?” she said, after he didn’t reply. Then she waved her hand in front of his Flame of Revival and continued, “What’s your name? Cat got your tongue?”

“Vance.” The answer came only so that she would back off.

“So you can talk,” the scrawny woman laughed. “You almost scared me.” She grabbed the chair opposite his, rotated it with ease, and sat on it backwards. She remained silent for a few seconds. Then she turned to the timid Geomancer and said, “What’s wrong, Shannon? Come here! There’s a chair for everyone!”

Shannon hesitated before she sat down with reluctance.

“I’m Hollie,” the scrawny woman continued. “You’re from Engelsburg.” She pointed at his clothes. “Fancy life you guys lead up north. Lots of castles. Lots of banquets. Lots of money from the trade with the dwarves.”

“What do you want?” Vance finally said.

“Chill, fuckface,” Hollie laughed. “We just came to say hi. This cute little Geomancer is also from Engelsburg, aren’t you, Shannon?”

“Um … Yeah … I’m f-from there, too.”

“And?” Vance was unimpressed.

“And we came to say hi,” Hollie said.

“Hi. Can you leave me alone now?”

“You’re so busy staring at these empty chairs, aren’t you?”

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“For Eleanor, right?” Hollie laughed. “Miss Goody Two Shoes is gonna take some time to come back. She’s meeting with the Dullahans upstairs.”

The Dullahans?

“But look at you,” Hollie laughed again. “Sitting here like her loyal puppy. You have a room full of Adventurer Slayers like you. Don’t you think it’s stupid to just sit there and talk to no one? Everyone has a story to tell. This is your chance to get to know people or find ascension partners.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Vance said curtly.

“Sheesh, how antisocial!”

“I know enough about other slayers.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Hollie said. “Take Shannon, for example. She’s a total fucking pacifist. Get that through your head!”

“A pacifist?” Vance thought he had misheard.

“Y-Yes,” Shannon said.

This strange fact was the seed for a long conversation. Vance forgot about his initial coldness. Is there a way to level up without killing adventurers? How is that even possible with our class? He began to ask questions with a veritable hunger for information, and Shannon began to answer with both evident honesty and excessive politeness. At the same time, it seemed as though Hollie had become nonexistent. She rocked her stone chair back and forth, much like an excited child, and melted into the background as the other two continued their rather interesting discussion.

“So you’ve never killed any humans?” Vance said.

“No,” Shannon said. “Well, I did … But only in self-defense. And I regret it.”

“What do you offer to the shrines of Thurvik?”

“Years from my own life … Thurvik understands and accepts my offerings.”

“But how did you earn enough EXP for your Class Ascension?”

“I have a farm.”

“A ‘farm’? Is that a code word or something?”

“No, an actual farm,” Shannon laughed shyly. “I live in a forest to the north … I built myself a small wooden cottage. The monsters don’t attack me, and few humans frequent the area … I grow EXP-granting herbs in a small plot of land. The soil is rich, and I’m always blessed with a good harvest.”

Vance suddenly felt disappointed. He already knew about the different types of herbs, and he also knew that none of them were efficient enough to replace other sources. She probably accepted the Adventurer Slayer class just to hide from the Church … Talk about a waste of potential. Shannon sounded to him like a rustic Warrior who used Strength to farm, or a petty mage who used magic to perform at taverns, or a devout Necromancer who refused to raise the dead. Such people chose to lead mediocre lives that were in dissonance with their classes. The pacifism was like a new twist in an old tale of incompetence.

“How long did it take you to reach level 25?”

“4 years,” Shannon said.

Vance couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know it’s inefficient.”

“How many centuries will it take you to reach level 50?”

“C-Come on, please don’t make fun of me,” Shannon said, a bit embarrassed. “I don’t care about reaching a high level. It’s not a race. I just want to be strong enough to protect myself and live a normal life.”

“And yet you’re here in Middlerift.”

“I have to complete my ascension.”

“I know,” Vance said. “But the question is: how? To complete the ascension, you have to slay a beast, remember? You said you were a total pacifist, so how will you do it? Surely, you’ve thought that through.”

“I did,” Shannon said. “That’s why I’m still here in Argilstead … I’m looking for someone who could help me cheat the system … someone who could steal my head back without slaying the beast that took it.”

“You want to steal your head back? From a beast?”

“I know it sounds weird. But yes, that’s my goal.”

She’s not incompetent. Vance laughed. She’s outright crazy.

“Why don’t you lend her a hand, Vance?” Hollie suddenly interrupted.

“Me?” He laughed again.

“Yes, you. Can’t see any other Vances around,” Hollie said. “You just got all those donations from the others. You have enough time for two ascensions, so why not give our cute little Geomancer a hand? It won’t hurt.”

“So that’s why you approached me,” Vance laughed a third time.

“She’ll make it worth it for you,” Hollie said.

“Sorry, but I have other plans.”

Vance was about to get up, but Hollie got up faster. Before he could leave the table, she had pushed him down into the chair and said, “Sit down! Why the hurry? So you don’t wanna help us. Big deal! We can still have fun together, can’t we? No drinks around here, but I’ll get us good company!”

***

It seemed that Hollie lacked any social intelligence. Before Vance could raise any objections, she had already invited several other Turncoats to the table. What made matters more complicated was the fact that there were donors among the invitees. Those were the people who had given Vance a share of their Flames of Revival, and if he decided to leave the table now, they would have had all kinds of misunderstandings. It might put me in trouble with the elephant-mage and his whole brothers and sisters thing. He didn’t want to stick out or to be labeled an ingrate, so he found himself stuck to his chair.

But it wasn’t an all bad situation. After he had learned that Shannon was a pacifist, Vance realized that there were many things that he didn’t know about other Adventurer Slayers and their unique approaches to life. Perhaps Hollie was partly right. It was his chance to learn about this fragmented community, whose members came together once every 25 levels. I’ll make the best out of this mess and excuse myself as soon as Eleanor comes back. He assumed an air of friendliness and sociability. As Hollie invited more people over, he began to hold casual conversations and explore the stories that every Turncoat offered.

Eventually, he met another interesting individual—the second to pique his interest after Shannon. It was a Timemaster who went by the name Oswald. He wore plain clothes and had no weapons, but he exuded an attractive aura of strength and sophistication. His story itself was quite simple: as an adventurer, he leveled up too high by mistake, and his Chaos Factor increased beyond the accepted range, so he had no choice but to go rogue to escape the Church. But it was not this banal story that interested Vance: it was rather the world view that Oswald adopted as a result of this experience.

“Religion is nothing but a base means to power,” the Timemaster said. “And I refuse to be subjugated. I spend my days hiding and cowering. All of us do. But one day we’ll break free. One day we’ll have a country of our own.”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

It was a fool’s errand, unmanageable at best, fruitless at worst. But Oswald spoke with such conviction that Vance almost believed in the impossible. As the rest of the Turncoats settled into frivolous chats and games, Vance and Oswald claimed a corner of the table and digressed into a philosophical discussion. This conversation was meant to be a window onto Oswald’s world view, but it soon developed to include the opinions of Albert Nietzsche. All sworn enemies of the Church referenced Nietzsche at one point or the other. This time, however, Oswald chose to focus on only one recent publication.

“Have you read The Church of Murderers?”

“Weren't all the copies burned?” Vance remembered Townheart Square.

“Some survived,” Oswald said. “I got myself one, and I’m not willing to part with it, not even for the pope’s head. It’s a thrilling read. You—”

Hollie shouted from the other side of the table and then burst into laughter. It seemed she had just won a game. After this unexpected interruption, Oswald gathered his thoughts and began to talk about The Church of Murderers again. It was the work that aligned with his world view the most. According to Oswald, Nietzsche spent years researching and several more writing before he produced this masterpiece. The original manuscript was around 300 pages long, each written with invisible ink, and it was divided into three main parts: Human in a Box, Tribalistic Morality, and The Murderous God.

“Have you read any?”

“Only fragments,” Vance said. “I never found a full copy, so—”

There was a sudden thud. Shannon tripped as she got up from her seat. While Hollie and the other Turncoats helped her back to her feet, Oswald sighed in frustration. “They don’t want to give us a chance to concentrate, do they?” his long sigh seemed to say. But he refused to give up so soon and began to explain the contents of the book with even more passion than before. He started with Human in a Box. In this first part, Nietzsche asked his readers to look at the Federation of Free Cities. Was it a prosperous nation that fulfilled the dreams of humanity? Or was it a mere box trapping all humans?

“A box?” Vance chuckled.

“Yes, a continental box,” Oswald said.

Shannon drew another chair and sat next to Vance. She listened attentively as Oswald continued his explanation. The human nation was isolated from the world. There were mountains to its north and west, an ocean to its east, and a sultry desert to its south. These barriers limited contact with the other races, and the Church filled humans with enmity toward them. Even the dwarves and ifrits, who were given permission to live among humans, had both to worship Amirani and to abandon their heretic traditions. Whoever violated these rules was immediately expelled from the Federation.

“There you go,” Oswald concluded. “A box. Humanity lives in a box.”

“It’s not that bad,” Shannon suddenly said.

Vance turned to look at her, but she didn’t elaborate.

“No, Geomancer,” Oswald said. “It’s even worse than that.”

The table shook as Hollie and her company started a series of arm-wrestling duels. Vance was distracted by them for a second, but then he focused again on the developing conversation.

Oswald began to argue why the great human nation should be called a “cage” instead of a mere “box.” The reason was quite simple: the policies of the Church imprisoned humans. For example, there was the Chaos Factor. It was supposed to be a measure of how good or evil a person was, but it set an upper limit on how much a human could level up. Past level 100, an innocent human would be called a sinner or criminal for no clear reason. This forced humans, according to Oswald, to remain weak relative to the rest of the world, and it became impossible for them to venture outside the Federation.

“Well, no one can argue against that,” Vance said.

Shannon remained silent.

“It doesn’t end at that,” Oswald said. “The borders of the human world aren’t guarded by the humans themselves but by an army of servile orcs. You’re from Engelsburg, right? In the north.”

“Yes,” Vance said. “Shannon, too.”

“Haven’t you heard the Engelian priests boasting in their sermons? They talk a lot about how we’ve domesticated the unintelligent orcs, how we’ve forced them to depend on our crops and cattle for food, how we’ve taken the sons of their chiefs hostage for ‘educational purposes.’ ”

“I’ve heard this more often than I’d want to admit,” Vance said.

“I’ve heard it too,” Shannon mumbled. “It’s sad.”

“More than sad,” Oswald continued. “The Church says that the orcs are there so that no human would have to fight in a war again, but these are blatant lies. The borders are guarded by orcs to prevent humans from having a glimpse of the outside world. The high-level orcs are there to murder any human who tries to escape the theocracy. And one day, they will turn against us. They will rebel and crush the human box in their fists. The farmer can’t enslave the soldier.”

“That’s … an interesting hypothesis,” Vance said.

“And it leads us to the second part of the book.”

Oswald moved on and began to explain the meaning of Tribalistic Morality. In this part, Nietzsche argued that the persistent isolation, the life inside the box, had molded human brains into a pathological form. They were conditioned to hate everything foreign, to condemn everything different, to shun everything unhuman. They even started calling monsters, which acted on pure instinct, evil and loathsome. Humans could not be united in love, so the Church united them in hate. Monsters were turned into the common enemy that could bring humans together and keep them busy—a primitive, disorganized enemy, over which the Church could claim an endless series of victories.

“Nietzsche is not saying that monsters are innocent,” Oswald said. “He just wants you to understand that they’re not pure evil. They have a different build, and we as humans never cared enough to study them.”

“So you’re saying that there’s no absolute evil in the world,” Vance said.

“And no absolute good,” Shannon murmured.

“Yes, I’m saying exactly that,” Oswald asserted. “But the Church is too fond of creating devils. First, it was monsters. Now, it’s humans too.”

“Humans?” Shannon was puzzled.

“Can’t you see it, Geomancer?” Oswald laughed. “Humans with a high Chaos Factor are called pure evil, like monsters. They are persecuted out of towns and cities, like monsters. They are killed, like monsters. The Church has managed to perfect a tribalistic morality. If you’re not a weak, meek follower of Amirani, you’re a monster that should be killed. You’re not human anymore. You’re a goblin or an elf. You’re an Agent of Chaos.”

“I’ve been called all these things,” Vance laughed.

“And you’re not the only one,” Oswald said. “I was also called all these things even before I killed a single human. When the priests checked my Chaos Factor and found it above the accepted range, I had to flee for my life. I was no longer a human. The Church is like a prehistoric tribe. If you threaten its power or try to escape from its control, you become a sinner, a foreigner, a monster. But most common folks are too blind to see this. They’re busy building new towns or clearing goblin nests or drinking in the taverns. Daily life can be the greatest distraction from truth.”

“I can’t say you’re wrong,” Vance agreed.

Oswald seemed satisfied. Then he said, “Once we accept tribalistic morality as the reality of the Church, there is only one inference to make. The last part of the book, The Murderous God, makes the claim that the Church and Amirani are guilty murderers. They murdered every innocent monster, every monster that had been minding its own business, every monster that had hurt no one. For Nietzsche, ‘monster’ means any enemy of the Church. And like real monsters, we slayers must fight back and defeat the theocracy.”

***

After Oswald finished explaining the contents of The Church of Murderers, Vance thought that the serious philosophical discussion would come to an end. But then Shannon took the spotlight. She interrupted Vance and Oswald before they could transition to another topic. Her behavior was rather strange, since she had only shown shyness and introversion before. Perhaps she had been holding back for a long time, or perhaps she couldn’t let the conversation end on such a note. She clenched both fists on top of her knees and started to talk with more confidence than before.

“The Church may be hypocrites,” she said. “But if we kill adventurers, we’ll become hypocrites, too. It’s not right to kill people, even if it’s for some greater good. To be honest with you, I don’t care about good or evil. I just don’t want to hurt anyone. Everyone should have a chance to live life to the fullest, a chance to find some peace and quiet.”

“Are you serious, Geomancer?” Oswald said.

“Yes … I feel that the world is really simple. It’s just us who are complicating things for ourselves. We let all these abstract concepts divide us, and we forget that we are all the same. We are all the same humans.”

“The Church started with aggression,” Oswald said. “They’re responsible for everything. Blame them. For the lives they take. For the lives we take.”

“You’re full of anger, Oswald,” Shannon said.

“Better than naivety,” the Timemaster retorted. “Not everyone can go live in a dreamland forest like you. It’s wrong to forgive the Church or forget about its existence. It’s wrong to leave the fate of humanity in the hands of priests.”

“But the people you kill will never return,” Shannon said.

“I’m done here.” Oswald stood up. “I’ll go hang out with Hollie and the rest. They understand me better.” He left for the other side of the table. “Good luck convincing this preacher, Vance.”

But Vance spent no effort to convince Shannon. He didn’t favor one opinion over another, and he didn’t care enough to influence other minds or change their thinking. After Oswald was gone, he shifted the conversation in another direction and began to talk with Shannon about her life. To his surprise, the Geomancer was more open than before. She described her daily routine in her small cottage—how she cleared the snow every morning, how she tended to her herbs, how she picked fruits and wild mushrooms. Her favorite part of the day was the afternoon, when she would go out for walks and use her geomancy to build houses for small monsters.

“Doesn’t it get lonely for you?” Vance asked.

“It’s the price I pay for peace,” Shannon said.

“Are you still scared the Church might one day find you?”

“Not really … I don’t feel afraid of the Church anymore. But … Ever since my class changed, I’ve had another kind of fear … I started feeling I might one day lose myself … I don’t want to change. I love the way I am right now.”

After talking about her current life, Shannon moved back in time. She told Vance about her parents. They had made a fortune trading with the dwarves, whose busy forges were located north of the border. She was supposed to help at the family shop, but her uncle, a self-proclaimed philosopher, encouraged her to pursue a different career as an adventurer. Her parents opposed the idea. They were worried and hesitant. But when they saw how determined she was, they finally realized they couldn’t stop her, and they gave her their approval. She joined the Federal Guild and finished several jobs with great success.

“My uncle believed that all problems could be resolved peacefully. He was my mentor … and my inspiration.” Shannon steepled her scarred fingers. “I wanted to help people without bloodshed. I wanted to prove to everyone that we didn’t need to murder monsters to make our lives better, just as my uncle said. But on my last adventure …” She paused as if with pain. “There was … There was a lot of blood. Monster blood. Human blood.” Her fingernails dug into the back of her hand. “A terrible incident happened … And I had to become a slayer after it. I had no choice … I … I prefer not to talk about it.”

“Some things are better forgotten,” Vance said.

“Thank you for understanding.”

When this talk ended, Vance felt more sympathetic toward Shannon than before. Her life was in shambles. She had lost her wealth in Engelsburg and had given everything up, only to live away from all other humans. The world had forgotten about her, but she was happy to spend her days in the calm of this oblivion. Was she incompetent? Was she insane? No one could say for sure, but she was indeed a resolute believer in pacifism. And even now her Flame of Revival was growing weak because she was staying true to her strict principles: kill no monster; kill no human; kill no beast. Regardless of whether she was right or wrong, wise or naive, Vance felt that her position was still worthy of respect. To each their own.

“I can help you complete your ascension,” he finally said, after he had given the matter more thought. “But it will cost you.”

“Really?” Shannon was surprised. “What made you change your mind?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want you to wait here until your flame goes out, and I’m pretty sure you’ll end up dead if you leave Argilstead with someone else.”

“You think I’m naive.”

“No,” Vance said. “But you don’t belong here.”

“I don’t …” Shannon agreed.

“You made a mistake when you came to Middlerift, but you shouldn’t pay for this one mistake with your life. Both of us can get something out of this. You’ll go back home, and I’ll have more time to spend at the Fly Market or to explore other areas of Middlerift. It’s a win-win situation.”

“You want me to give you my Flame of Revival … after you help me.”

“Simple enough, right? You won’t be needing it.”

“Thank you … Thank you so much!” She sprang up and gave him a warm hug without any warning. “I’ll go tell Hollie! She’ll be so happy!”

As the cheery Geomancer rushed away, Vance suddenly found a giant shadow overhanging him. He stood up and realized that a broad-shouldered, strapping highlander was lurking behind him. Like all highlanders, he stood higher than two meters and had four arms, each more muscular than the other. On his back there were four battle axes that he used in his berserk attacks. Why was he here? And what did he want? Before Vance could ask, the highlander had given him a strong clap on the back. His hand was so rough that it almost made Vance numb—a whip would have caused less damage.

“You’ve got a kind heart for a slayer. I’m Gunner.”

Vance didn’t appreciate the compliment or pay attention to the name.

“You’re helping the tiny Geomancer,” Gunner continued. “I wanted to help her myself, but she was too scared of me. She wasn’t very comfortable around anyone higher in level either. I’m glad she found you.”

“You overheard us,” Vance said.

“Don’t be sour,” Gunner laughed heartily. “It’s out of my hands. We hear the earthquakes before they come, human. I wanted you to know that I can help. If you need healing patches or any additional gear, we highlanders run a shop on the outskirts of Argilstead. I’d be willing to sell you anything you need for a discounted price. Better than letting those Fly Merchants rip you off.”

He’s after Shannon’s flame. How subtle.

Before the highlander could add another word, Vance was suddenly tackled from behind. He almost tripped, but Gunner caught him and helped him keep balance. When he turned around, he found Hollie laughing annoyingly.

“So you were a good guy after all!” She burst into more laughter and pulled him close, with her arm around his shoulders. “I knew it all along!”

“What do you want now?” Vance was done with her attitude.

“Nothing,” Hollie said, with even more exuberance. “I’m here to thank you! I was worried about Shannon, but now I know she’s in good hands! Take care of her, and don’t get yourself killed!”