Bang!

The last bubble burst, and the scorching heat exponentially weakened, along with a single pulse which slowly grew indistinguishable from his heartbeat.

Finally, both bodies had completely fused. Or rather, it was more appropriate to say the two bodies he resonated with originally had assimilated the foreign man’s body he possessed.

He couldn’t hang onto the thread of consciousness anymore and the image of three bodies faded.

…

“Hey, wake up!”

Deus jolted awake. A faint stain had formed beneath his armpits, drenching his white linen shirt. He scrunched, slightly disoriented.

Sister Mary stood in the right aisle of the church, her right arm placed upon his shoulder. The other churchgoers had already left, leaving the chapel quite deserted.

She sighed and said, “You’ve dozed off.”

“Sorry,” he replied and slowly stood up.

“It’s alright. I didn’t want to wake you up.” She turned towards the altar where the father towered over brother Zarael, who was assisting him in arranging some documents.

When the father’s gaze met hers, his expression remained calm as ever.

They didn’t notice?

Deus raised his eyebrows, replying, “What time is it? Aren’t we supposed to depart today?”

“Yes, that’s why I woke you up. I wouldn’t want to hinder the recovery of a patient for nothing. Besides, the church will brim with the next batch of people in just a few minutes.”

“I see.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. If they’d noticed an abnormality, would they tell him?

Had they believed the evil was dispelled, it wouldn’t be out of question to tell him to calm his peace of mind. Otherwise, they’d probably grow much more insistent on going along with their plan. He decided to probe further.

“You know, I’ve thought about it. Maybe It’d be better to rest for a few more days, what do you–”

“No! That’s out of the question!” Sister Mary raised her voice sharply, which then echoed down the chapel. Immediately, her face flushed red.

“I didn’t mean to! Sorry. It’s not befitting for a sister of the Holy Church of Darkness!” She lowered her head slightly, interlocking her hands.

The father had taken notice of the commotion, glancing at the two again.

So they’ve noticed something… A slight sense of unease lingered in his mind, and without waiting another second, he assured her, “Don’t worry, I’ve decided. I’ll come with you, okay?”

Sister Mary nodded.

“Wait here. I’ll have a talk with father Art to prepare for the upcoming voyage.”

She adjusted her coif, beneath which strands of white hair had become loose, and walked gracefully towards the altar.

They whispered silently, to the point that when he mustered all his attention, he could only discern a few hushes. Coupled with occasional glances, he could only assume he was the subject of their conversation.

My situation is becoming quite perilous. However, it’s of utmost priority to escape from this rural area. He contemplated, eventually coming to a resolute decision, Especially with the commencement of the Royal Succession War, locating me in Novaston will be like searching for a needle in a haystack — it’ll be impossible.

That is, if there are no supernatural methods, He added and sighed internally. He could only depend on logical deductions. In a world of supernaturality, the value of logic fell tremendously.

Finally, father Art and sister Mary’s conversation seemed to have reached a conclusion. Deus watched as sister Mary returned walking towards him while father Art pulled open a wooden hatch beneath the altar’s podium. He mumbled something as both him and brother Zarael descended, slowly disappearing from his view.

“Where is he going?” Deus asked curiously.

“It’s just some equipment we store in the crypt. Nothing to worry about. Let’s go outside.”

Deus’s lips curled upwards. “Alright.”

He didn’t believe them at all, it was obvious she was trying to deceive him. However, he was quite confident they wouldn’t take action unless he did something rash during their travels. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be this patient with him.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

For the time being, I’ll play along… He thought as he followed her outside.

The church was perched atop a slight elevation, overlooking the mid-sized town consisting of narrow cobblestone streets and buildings. Most were two stories high, except for the buildings adjacent to the high street, which stood at three stories. Numerous carriages transporting various goods navigated through the crowded street, which was swarming with people, animals, and vendors.

The town was encased in seemingly endless agricultural lands, while the same mountains he’d seen whilst in the backyard of the manor stretched along the northern horizon. It made him wonder why they wouldn’t significantly expand horizontally — was it perhaps that they’ve experienced an unforeseen influx of people?

“Mister, who are you?” a shrill voice called out from below.

Deus’s head tilted downwards, spotting a young girl at his feet. She wore a woolen dress and petticoat, hand-knitted gloves covering her from the cold. An expression of curiosity was written all over her face.

“Well–”

Before he could respond, a young man who stood only a few steps left hurried towards them. The man was in his late twenties, hence could be considered a peer to Deus in terms of mental age. He wore a gray woolen coat and flat-cap.

“Don’t just speak to strangers!” he reprimanded, then turned towards Deus. He lifted his flat-cap, apologizing profusely. Deus’s gaze landed on the man’s scalp, which revealed a huge bald spot.

When the man noticed the direction of his gaze, he promptly put his hat back on. Deus withdrew his gaze. There was no benefit in pointing out someone’s insecurity.

Rather, it’s disadvantageous, He mused, It’s in my best interest to foster relationships, in order to gather information about this world.

Deus reached out his hand. The man’s eyes lingered on it for a second, before he returned the handshake. His grip was slack, indicating there was no enmity between them despite his awkward mishap.

“I’m Derek Green, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir. I’m Monte Moverte.”

Deus put on a light smile, “So, it seems like we’ll spend the next few days together. Where are you two heading to?”

“Oh, that…” Monte’s gaze darted to the girl, whose shoulders dropped slightly. This was a stark contrast to her previous enthusiastic behavior.

“We’re visiting grandma. She’s residing in Novaston, and…” he paused in hesitance, but then added, “She’s not feeling too well.”

Deus understood the cause of his hesitance immediately, and softly placed his hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that. She’ll be in my prayers. May ‘She’ bring solace to her. If you ever feel in need of some companionship, I’ll never hesitate to support those in need.”

When Monte nodded, he patted his shoulder and diverted the topic, “I’m staying in Novaston with my wife as well, although most of the time I’m on the move — carting isn’t easy.”

Deus chuckled slightly, “One day, my wife is going to kill me because of it. Where are you guys from?”

Deus’s encouragement seemed to have calmed his mind a little, and he responded in a voice laced with a hint of optimism, “This is my daughter, Mariel.”

He stroked her hair, as she was still feeling a little dejected. “We’re from Bourd. Did you know it’s the fifth most populous in the Bothamian Empire?”

Evidently, this random fact was not truly directed at Deus, but to cheer up Mariel. However, she turned her head, which he responded to by sighing silently.

He’s intelligent, but that doesn’t include his emotional intelligence, Deus thought as Monte gave up his attempts, and began truly immersing himself within their conversation.

“I’m working in a pastry shop…”

The chatting continued for a bit, while Deus repeated the story he’d told sister Mary. By Deus’s judgement, there wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy to point out, as he jabbered about various pastries, competitors, and the increasing governmental regulations.

While they were immersed within their conversation, a sizable crowd had formed in front of the St. Plors Church. While most of them had gathered to attend the second church service of the day, a select few planned to ride along in the carriage.

After a member of the church staff welcomed the majority inside, twelve people remained outside. This was the group he’d spent his next few days with.

“Everyone, listen up!”

Sister Mary stood on the ledge of the wagon’s rear as she interrupted the crowd’s ramblings, which fell silent right away. This behavior demonstrated the anxiety which gripped the people’s hearts, perhaps because of the upcoming travels or obstacles they might face in the context of uncertain times.

“In a few minutes, we’ll depart. All baggage on the side of our church's envoy has been stowed inside. I’ll have to rely on your cooperation to carry on with your luggage.”

She continued, explaining the orderly protocol in an attempt to get this done quickly. Oddly enough, Deus gained the impression the complexity of her system only fueled the crowd’s tensity, delaying their departure even further.

An elderly lady argued with another one over who’d go first based on their seniority, since the other lady’s husband used to be an officer in the Bothamian Army. Monte lost sight of Marial as she went off looking to talk with another stranger. Meanwhile, sister Mary ran around trying to enforce her protocol.

When it was Deus’s turn, he stepped into the latter wagon. Both wagons spanned around five meters and were covered with an arched canvas tarp, coated in a layer of oil to resist harsh weather conditions. Inside, two wooden benches were placed opposite to each other, while there was an elevated seat in front which was assigned to the coachman.

Deus speculated that the wagon was meant for the transport of goods instead of the transport of people. However, as such methods were gradually being outperformed by means such as railway freight, the supply of second-hand wagons would rise, resulting in record-low prices. Besides, they were much more handy when intending to transport large groups of people.

His cohort consisted of the elderly lady with ‘an officer husband’, which he later learned called herself Misses Pinker, claiming to have inherited several plots of land in the East. He was skeptical about the truthfulness of her statements.

Then there were Monte and Mariel, who he’d already become acquainted with, brother Zarael of the Moonlit Brotherhood who he’d seen assisting father Art earlier, himself and the coachman.

Brother Zareal donned several iron-wrought chains depicting phases of the moon, while the coachman was an ordinary middle-aged man.

Sister Mary was seated in the front wagon, while father Art stayed behind in the St. Plors Church — it relied on his presence to keep things going both systemically and morally.

As church service was still underway, he couldn’t see them off, but they departed anyway.