The Mother of Darkness,

Deus was stunned, his eyes opening a slit. Again, this invocation was English! Why?

Demise to the Infernal Torch,

She, born within the Abyss.

The invocation ended without a proper supplication, indicating she wasn’t intent on any specific effects but rather to gain mental clarity or to subtly veer the Goddess’s watchful gaze in her direction. The sister's eyes slowly reopened with a spark of confidence, and she turned to meet Deus’s gaze.

“I apologize for the rudeness. I should’ve introduced myself.”

She bowed slightly. “I’m Mary, a sister of the Church of the Mother of Darkness.”

Deus returned the slight bow and responded, “It’s a pleasure. I’m Derek.”

He sighed. “I’ve calmed down, and I really don’t want to keep you waiting. I suppose it’s only fair to tell you about myself.”

Deus’s shoulders slouched as he stared at the ceiling. It was a common misconception that liars tended to avoid eye contact — on the contrary, strictly maintaining it would arouse suspicion instead.

“I’ve been transporting fresh produce for more than twenty years, supplying local stores. The last few years however, …”

He paused. Based on the sister’s previous monologue, he’d deduced she was worried about some heretics wreaking havoc. It was likely this wasn’t an isolated incident, and even if it was, wasn’t it human nature to falsely perceive things were constantly turning worse?

He continued, “There’s just been a lot more crime lately, I can barely leave my wife back home without any worry. Now it all culminated with my near-death, horses, carriage, and goods stolen.”

“I’m sorry for the rant, I shouldn’t–”

“No, you’re right.”

Deus’s gaze wandered from the ceiling back to sister Mary, watching her with wide eyes.

“Faith is dwindling, that’s the root cause of everything. You should tag along, tomorrow.”

“What’s up?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t know? Next Sunday marks the beginning of the Royal Succession Wars. A few of us rural parishes have been ordered to send support to the Archdiocese of Novaston. The city will brim with travelers the next few weeks.”

Before Deus could respond, she intercepted him, “This is for your own safety, too. The St. Plor’s Church lacks experience and manpower, while the St. Yves Cathedral is well experienced with… Well, it’s for your own safety. A check-up, if you will.”

A faint sense of uncertainty hung in the air. Deus had already made a guess as to why she was acting strange, All clues hint that she’s suspicious of me because of what I’ve said about that infant. She believes there’s some evil influence she wants to dispel.

However, I can’t let that happen! Otherwise, I might be banished from this body right away. I wouldn’t want to imagine what happens after that.

“Thank you sister, I wouldn’t know what to do without you. That’s right where I’m from,” he responded, although he was determined to escape before they would arrive. A little hitchhiking was necessary to get away from this place, and he wasn’t going to let that chance slip away!

This back and forth continued for half an hour, during which they discussed various matters.

She was born in the Lorn Republic, the neighboring country divided by the Quinor Mountain Range, and orphaned early after both of her parent’s deaths. Eventually, due to certain cultural exchange programs aimed at reducing tensions between both nations, an aristocratic family of the Bothamian Empire adopted her during diplomatic travels.

However, this adoption sparked public outrage, with several press companies accusing them of treason and espionage for the Lorn Republic. Even in the Lorn Republic, this event garnered negative reaction as many felt disrespected, as if not being able to take care of their own orphans.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

For both their own and Mary’s safety, she was taken in by the Moonlit Sisterhood of the Church of the Mother of Darkness, stationed at the St. Plor’s Church which lay far from where the commotion took place. The St. Plor's Parish was located in the Duchy of Crowley, which was situated east to the capital city of Novaston, the stage of this competition.

Today marked Saturday, the 10th of October, 1497, and although things seemed rather medieval in the rural areas, industrialization had already begun to spread its wings in the last half-century. Horse-drawn carriages, such as the one he'd told he’d been robbed of, were becoming increasingly fewer, overtaken by rail transport.

At last, his stomach rumbled, interrupting their conversation. Sister Mary’s lips curled slightly upwards.

“You’re recovering.” She turned around, facing the exit. “Don’t move, or your wounds might open up again. I’ll bring you some soup.”

“Thank you, sister.”

Ever since he first transmigrated, this was the first time he felt fully relaxed. The sun continued to illuminate the room in a pleasant light.

However, his expression soon contorted as he fell into deep contemplation, Now that I’ve transmigrated, what am I going to do?

It didn’t take him long to come up with some fundamental ideas. Firstly, it was important he had a firm grasp on his situation within this world. Only then would he be able to do anything.

Secondly, he had to grow stronger. It was a prerequisite to becoming fully unrestrained.

The wooden door to the vestry creaked open and sister Mary walked in, a bowl of soup in her left, and a spoon in her right. An aroma of cooked chicken with several savory herbs accompanied her, and she placed the chicken broth on the table.

“Don’t sit up just yet, I’ll help you.”

Deus nodded. She placed her palm below his shoulder blades and lifted up his upper body. When he sat right up, she picked up the bowl and lifted the spoon to his lips. The chicken broth was at exactly the right temperature.

…

The next day. He awoke early in the morning to the calls of a rooster, the dawn tainting the room in a golden tint.

Deus jawned. Today was going to be the day they would begin their travels to the St. Yves Cathedral in Novaston, and he had to sneak away somewhere on the way.

He lifted the blanket again. Sister Mary had changed the woolen blanket once more the day prior, since it was totally drenched in his sweat. However, he didn’t overly sweat this time around, and the bandages around his waist were spotless. That could only mean one thing — his health had already improved considerably.

He arose, his feet dangling from the makeshift-bed while he prepared for what was to come. A few minutes later, sister Mary walked inside and greeted him. Placed on her hand was a set of neatly-folded clothing, including a pair of basic cotton trousers and a linen shirt. Both had several patches.

“I apologize, that’s all we have. We didn’t manage to clean your clothes completely, because…” she said in a light voice, carrying a hint of sorriness, “Well, you know what I’m referring to.”

She handed them to him and he thanked her. Although she’d already seen his body up and down while taking care of him, she turned her back to him while dressed anyway.

When the sun rose slightly higher, the village was already bustling with the noise of everyday life. A group of three middle-aged women garbed in brown and gray woolen dresses walked from one street vendor to another, collecting fresh produce in straw baskets. An elderly man cursed after a teenage boy, who had sneakily stolen an apple from his pushcart while on the way to school.

A crowd of people had gathered in front of the St. Plors Church, awaiting morning church service. From what Deus understood, the church service was held thrice each Sunday. There were two main reasons for this; the town couldn’t accommodate all townspeople simultaneously, and it naturally coincided with routines from all walks of life.

Deus stood on the sidelines next to the altar which Mary was preparing, watching as a member of the church staff opened the gates. Although the bells which announced the commencing of church service had not yet rung, they had decided they didn’t want to let the people waiting in the cold.

While surveying the crowd, Deus noticed some of the people interlocking their hands with their thumbs clasped together, much like Mary did when she heard of the infant. He had already figured this was some religious gesture, but shockingly, he caught sight of other gestures too.

There was a young mother with three children who conjoined their hands into a gesture similar to the letter ‘B’ when viewed from above. A few steps to her left stood an old woman whose palms were wide open and spread apart, her fingertips grazing their respective counterparts.

It’s possible there’s multiple gestures all belonging to the same religion. Deus raised his eyebrows as he pondered. There’s also the possibility that they are more tolerant towards other religions, or perhaps they all participate in a single truth.

This particularity piqued his curiosity, but he didn’t dare ask sister Mary — if this scene was commonplace in this world, it would definitely arouse suspicion. And although it was fun to theorize around this matter, he reminded himself that his otherworldly perspective could cloud his judgment.

The bell finally rang, interrupting Deus’s train of thoughts. Sister Mary turned towards Deus and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the middle rows. He complied and sat down next to the old lady from before while sister Mary sat down in one of the front rows.

A few seconds later, the chattering quieted down. A tall figure stepped out of the vestry which lay behind the altar.