"That's a relief." The man said this, relaxing when he realized that the person in front of him was not an inspector.

After all, it was easy to bash the government but hard to face these people. Royalty and religion were forbidden subjects, etched in their blood.

"So, you deal with ghosts and demons?"

"And the mad." Althur added lightly.

"Are you from the capital?"

"That's clear."

"Yes. I hear they like stories like that."

"True. But it's a cutthroat business, you know. If they have to choose between interviewing a poor man in the slums or visiting a haunted house and talking to a ghost, many will choose the latter."

"But the church and the temple are powerful there. We're not welcome there at all. I think those places are ripe for exploration." Althur, who did not have a steady job, could do many different things.

"You're like a professional child trafficker. Or rather, a child seducer." As the man spoke, the two glanced at the boy next to him, who was still happy and curious as he tasted the ginger beer. The boy took a sip, then another.

"He's not. He is my brother." The boy's voice was firm.

Brahms had been told to answer whoever asked. Althur was his brother, who decided to take care of him because their family had died and they had no relatives left. The boy had always been silent while waiting, like a good and obedient child.

"It seems that today is not a good day to hear such a strange remark."

"All right. What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about the rumors."

The man paused, as if sorting out his thoughts. "Rumors, huh? There are plenty of them. They all come from the mines and the miners, you know."

"What kind of rumors?"

He lowered his voice, "rumors of the devil. Of curses and hauntings. I remember some bits and pieces. Some said they saw a woman in a white dress warning them not to go down the tunnel. They heard screams and moans from every corner of the mine, where it's dark and full of death."

"Sounds like nothing out of the ordinary." He shrugged.

"Maybe so. After all, living in a place like this can drive anyone mad. There are people who have been here since they were six, starting with sitting next to traps or holding the light like a bomb."

"It's hard to tell a madman from a possessed one."

He snorted, "Does it matter? Just ignore them; nobody cares."

"You're right. But our readers don't. They're curious. You see, they're really into investigating real lunatics to find evidence against us, to stop us from making things up."

He looked at him with sympathy. "Sounds like a tough job."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Just go on."

"Sure. Uhm, yes."

"Three years ago, that's right. Three years ago, a rumor about headless horsemen emerged. They galloped on black horses and prowled around town."

"Did you witness it with your own eyes?" Althur inquired.

"Haha. Well, I detest these very much."

"In short, these haunted horsemen roamed; they roamed, and many people have reported seeing them. This triggered the number of people flocking to the church to soar. The bishop had to be very direct. prayer and purification to comfort and soothe the people. After that, we no longer heard."

"But," he leaned closer and lowered his voice, "there's more to the story. I heard there's a secret cult in this town. They wear black robes and dance in the streets and graveyards, summoning nightmares and horrors."

"That's a grave accusation." Althur said quietly.

"It is, but there's no way to prove it." The bartender winked, but silver reveals its true nature. You want to know more?"

"Yeah, sure." The young man's voice sounded hesitant; he took a few sips of Old Porter before becoming more relaxed.

"But tell me, are you sure this is safe? You're not going to publish this or expose yourself, are you?" The bartender inquired.

"No, no, don't worry. This is between you and me. We don't want to attract the attention of the inquisition."

"They worship death, you see. They spit on the goddess and her gifts. It's a good thing there's no temple of Lut here. Otherwise, they would either burn it down or leave it to rot in the sun."

"Eternal life." Althur gasped. "Does the bishop know about this?"

"I don't know; I've never met anyone from that sect. I hope not."

The people of this kingdom, whether devout or not, followed the two gods and their teachings. To worship or believe in anything else was rare and heretical. And to do so openly was a sure way to end up in the hands of the inquisition.

"It's something new, but it's a shame I can't publish it."

"But it's worthy!"

"But are you sure you want to let the child listen?" The bartender pointed to the child, who was more curious about the bouncing stories.

"I assure you, is there something more serious?"

"People say that the head manager is a secret follower of the cult. He often meets with a strange man who is not from the church. They seem to be up to something evil."

"What do you mean?" Althur asked curiously.

"Well, I heard that they go into the haunted mines and make deals with dark forces. They have some kind of plan, but nobody knows what it is."

The bartender glanced at the miners, who were not working in the room but were whining. They're louder than they are, talking out loud about nasty things and fucking bosses, not a forbidden subject.

"The miners know more than I do. They call it an exorcist, whose job it is to drive out evil spirits that haunt the mines. Others say it's a servant of death, a seeker of negativity who tricks people into signing evil contracts."

"That sounds ominous." Althur expressed.

"It is. And it's dangerous. The Church would not approve of such activities. They would see it as a threat to the Goddess and her order."

"Maybe I could write a story about it. A story of brave priests who uncover the secrets of the manager and his accomplice and try to stop them with their faith and loyalty to the Goddess." Althur said it half-jokingly.

He knew he would never write a story, nor would any other journalist or novelist in this kingdom. It would be too risky and controversial. There were plenty of underground stories that mocked or criticized the two major religions, but they were usually sponsored by foreign enemies or dissidents.

A secret cult was not something to talk about lightly, even in this dark place. Althur realized that he had stumbled upon something bigger than he expected, or perhaps knew in his heart. As for the mysterious man in the bartender's words, it's definitely James. He sighed, not knowing how James' fame had spread here.

He had no idea where he was. As a Walaric, he could always determine a destination with his superior instincts, but things didn't seem to go so well.

"From when?" He wondered, "Could it be from the moment I heard Liam was dead, when the resurrection rituals backfired on me?" At least he confirmed that his body was still intact and that what made and formed him was fine. Or the absurdity clouded his judgment.

Everything seems to be spinning out of control. A town. A church. A bunch of miserable people. Rumors of wandering ghosts and death.

Peter's appearance was a clear warning, even if the young man didn't know it. The death of the woman who had become a vengeful wraith after James' exorcism had hit a dead end. And finally, rumors about headless ghosts and cults—are they really rumors? What is the role of the Haya Church in this land?