“"I am Priest Andrews, a wanderer in this land," Nathan explained. "Whenever I come upon a new town, I like to spend a day talking to the prisoners and listening to their woes."

He gestured towards himself. “You see, I was not always a man of the gods. In my youth, I committed many sins of my own until a senior priest took it upon himself to preach the gospel to me. Now I like to act in his stead, for he can no longer carry out this duty himself.” At this point, Nathan adopted a sad expression. After a moment of silence, he appeared determined before continuing his monologue.

“I hope that one day I can bring salvation to another, as salvation was brought to me. Would you allow me this honour, warden?” he asked.

Nathan was standing in a spacious office dominated by an enormous desk, cluttered with piles of paperwork.

Behind the desk sat a man advanced in age, his dark hair greying and his chin clean-shaven. His posture was ramrod straight as he watched Nathan without reaction.

This man was Clayton McClain, the warden of this town’s prison. From what Nathan had gathered, he was a former soldier who had retired from the frontlines to take up his current desk job. His men held him in high esteem, and from their apparent discipline, it was clear that Clayton had not left his military training behind when he left the army.

He held Nathan's stare for a moment before commenting, “You do not look like a cleric, Priest Andrews.”

The man’s voice was clear and concise, just as Nathan would have expected.

Nathan nodded and let out a relaxed chuckle. “Though I am a man of the church, I found that the city life does not suit me,” he explained. “I spend my time wandering the land, visiting cities merely to preach. Though my faith is true, it does little to protect me from wandering monsters and bandits alike, and there are times even I have to take up my knives. I have often been told that my bearing and disposition do not match those of my brothers and sisters in faith commonly seen in larger towns.”

The warden nodded at that. “I have yet to meet a man who braves the wilderness without having to defend himself.”

“Very well,” he continued, “you may talk to the prisoners, though I must ask you to leave any weapons behind.”

The man seemed slightly uncomfortable after making demands of a priest.

Nathan just nodded, clearly understanding the request. “You are right, of course; it would not do for weapons to fall into the hands of criminals.”

He produced his two daggers, laying them out on the table, before taking out the potion he had acquired yesterday.

“I do have two requests, presumptuous though they may be,” Nathan continued. “I ask to be allowed to bring this potion of Restful Nights with me. It is a product that grants peaceful sleep, a mercy that I think those repentant of their crimes deserve. Secondly, I ask to be alone when talking to the prisoners, as only a rare few would give their confessions with guardsmen overhearing their every word.”

That second condition made the warden scrunch up his face, clearly uncomfortable with leaving a priest alone with dangerous criminals.

Nathan decided to explain himself to alleviate the man’s worries. “Do keep in mind, warden, that I am used to life in the wilderness, and as I have told you, faith came to me late in life. I take no enjoyment from inflicting violence, but should the prisoners attempt to strike a man of the gods, I would not hesitate to defend myself and the honour of the church.”

The warden thought it over for a moment before slowly nodding. “Your requests can be fulfilled, though I insist on a guardsman waiting outside the room while you converse with the prisoners. These people tend to be both faithless and without honour; I would not put it past them to sully their souls further by attempting to harm a priest.”

Inwardly, Nathan felt relieved at that—he needed to stay out of the direct sight of the guards to kill his target without raising a fuss.

Outwardly, he only clasped his hands in thanks. “You are a good man, Warden McClain, to care even for the souls of criminals. May the gods be with you.”

The warden allowed a rare smile to spread across his face, a sight that seemed slightly unpractised.

“So are you, Priest Andrews. May the gods watch your every step.”

Taking that as the dismissal it was meant to be, Nathan turned around and left the warden to his paperwork.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

----------------------------------------

Less than an hour later, Nathan found himself in a small room. It had been outfitted with two chairs and was otherwise completely bare. The walls were smooth, but pure stone, and the only source of light was the sunlight streaming in through narrow windows.

This was the room usually reserved for interrogations, and the guards had relinquished it to him for the day. It was not exactly welcoming, but it would do for his purpose.

Nathan had asked around, and there were apparently a little more than thirty people currently imprisoned, most of them to be released in just a few weeks, with fewer than ten serious offenders. Of course, the worst of the worst just got the death penalty; there was hardly any merit in spending money on serial murderers.

When he was ready, Nathan turned to the guard assigned to him, a slightly overweight man in his thirties. “This room will do, Robert. Please bring in the first prisoner.”

The guard grumbled a bit at that. “Don't get why you would waste your time on scum when there are good folks just outside.”

Nathan simply kept staring at the man until he turned around to bring the first prisoner.

A few minutes later, Robert came back with a young man, shoving him into the room before closing the heavy door.

The first prisoner was relatively short in stature, with a youthful face. For a while, he simply stood there, his eyes restlessly flitting around the room, his hands twitching with nervous energy. Finally, his gaze settled on Nathan, and he started speaking, though his hands never stopped moving. “I ain't done it, I told you before. You got the wrong guy, wasn't me,” he let out, his voice high-pitched and nervous.

Nathan chuckled, staying calm as he answered, “Relax, son, I'm not with the guards.” He gestured to his priestly robes. “I'm just a wandering priest willing to listen to your tale.”

The youth eyed him suspiciously. “It's a trick to get me to talk, it is. I've heard it before. That's how they get you; it's what Ratface told me.”

Nathan struggled to keep his composure at the name “Ratface,” but continued nonetheless. “The guards can't impersonate a priest; the church wouldn't let them do that. Sit down, son, and relax.”

Nathan spoke with authority towards the end, and the prisoner finally sat down on the chair, calming down a little.

He didn’t seem likely to talk, so Nathan started his practised tale. “I'm not from the city myself, and I wasn’t born a priest. In my youth, I was similar to you—got myself locked up more than once.”

Nathan chuckled as if reminiscing about youthful mistakes.

“Had a priest visit me in jail; wasn’t much different than you and me right now. He just sat down and talked with me, listened to what I had to say. Changed my life, that conversation did, made me feel as if I had a chance to make something of myself.” He let the sentence linger for a while. “I made sure that the guards aren’t listening, so start by telling me your name. Mine’s Priest Andrews, though you can call me Nathan.”

The man had calmed down considerably, swallowing nervously before he started talking.

“My ma named me John, but they call me Slick.” Nathan nodded, gesturing for the man to continue.

“My father left when I was born, and my ma got sick when I was just little. Had to go out and make money for her, I did. Wasn’t no honest work for a child where I grew up, but I had to get food on the table, didn’t I?”

----------------------------------------

Nathan let out a sigh and massaged his temple as the latest prisoner left the room. He had talked to a dozen of them by now, and his target was not among them. He took a minute to relax; listening to people talk was far more exhausting than he thought.

Finally, he signalled the guard. “Bring in the next one, Robert.”

The guard nodded before asking, “How many more are you gonna talk to today, Priest Andrews? You seem exhausted.”

Nathan mulled it over in his mind. He could not interview everyone today, but he would fail the trial if he did not find his target. “I forget how exhausting it is to be among people when I wander the countryside,” he replied. “It’s rewarding to give those lost ones some hope, but the work is hard. I will let you know when I am done for the day.”

The next prisoner sent in was a woman. She seemed composed, but Nathan could see lingering anger in her face. She did not wait for him to speak, starting the conversation herself.

“So you’re the wandering priest, huh? Didn’t think a member of the clergy would demean themselves to speak with lowly criminals.”

Nathan considered her for a moment. “As I’ve said many times throughout the day, I did not grow up a believer in the gods. A senior priest came to me in a moment of hopelessness and helped me when I was younger. Since then, I’ve tried to spread the help he once gave me, visiting those in need of guidance. My name is Priest Andrews, though you can call me Nathan. What is your tale, young woman?”

The woman sat down, mulling over words in her mind before she started speaking. “A true believer, then, and one who understands that people are not perfect. Your kind is rare in the church.”

Nathan showed no reaction to that comment. “My name is Ria, and I grew up the daughter of a baker.”

Immense relief flooded Nathan, but he showed none of it on his face. He simply listened as Ria Aaltink continued her story, waiting for the right moment.

When she had spoken for more than twenty minutes, he pulled out his potion and offered it to her.

“A simple potion of awareness, stretched with water. I find it keeps my mind clear,” he offered as an explanation, and the woman gulped the tincture down without hesitation.

She only sensed something was wrong when the words coming out of her mouth began to slur, and by then, it was too late as she fell asleep.

Nathan knocked on the door, signalling Robert. “She chose to take the potion of Restful Nights. Would you help me carry her back to her cell?”

Robert grumbled but complied, and together the two men deposited the woman on her mattress. Once she was laid down, Nathan bent over her, as if to give a blessing, and let the stolen needle fall from his sleeve into his hand. Without hesitation, he drove it through her temple, killing the woman instantly.

Still standing over her, he made the sign of Raia, the goddess of reincarnation, and let out a few whispered words. “Goodbye, Ria Aaltink, daughter of a baker and a housewife, forced to steal to feed your brother. May you find peace in your next life.”

He straightened and turned to Robert. “Let me talk to the next prisoner, Robert, though it will be the last one of the day.”