Daphine Belyris and her escort arrived at the church entrance the moment she smelled fire. By then, the legends had already spread.

“What happened!” she asked the bustling crowd. Citizens had pushed their way onto the crime scene—a move they technically weren’t authorized to pull. But with the lack of response from city watch, untrained help from citizens was better than no help at all.

“The Wyvern Slayer, miss!” an enthusiastic man responded. He mimicked a sword swing. “He swung, and just like that the fire was gone!”

Daphine bit her lip. Hardly a helpful answer. Where was the Priest Keeper? The head of a church’s security. What of the priests or church officials? Someone who could explain what in their God’s name had happened. The church appeared vacant.

Daphine approached further, her escort calling for the crowd to create room. People moved out of the way, if only in fear of her escort’s staff and Daphine’s authority. More than a few disapproving looks drew toward her way. The people of Volés weren’t happy with the royals, and understandably so.

She made it to the doors, close enough to the church that simple gawkers were afraid to approach. “What happened?” she asked. This time, she directed the question towards a man of middle age who appeared to know mostly what he was doing. At the very least, he wore a serious look, determined to help.

“The church burned,” the man said. “I was closing my stall, and suddenly the church caught fire from the inside.”

I can bloody well see that, Daphine thought. Another church burned. The stone foundation didn’t save this one from fate. Even without stepping in, Daphine could see the church was as good as a ruin.

A group of adventurers walked past and into the church, barely throwing Daphine a glance. The situation appeared in control. The remaining sparks of fire were being extinguished. Dozens of first responders, mostly adventurers and simple men, pillaged for survivors amongst the ashen church.

For Daphine to take control and call for the wounded would be an insult. Daphine had arrived far too late.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” the man continued. “The Wyvern Slayer and his group walked in like the heat was nothing. He swung the fire out of the way with his sword. His mages did the rest. The fire was gone in minutes.”

“Where is the Wyvern Slayer?” Daphine asked.

“He…” the man said hesitantly. “He left. Barely even let us cheer. Just told us to fetch adventurers, then got up and ran off before anyone could follow.”

Daphine cursed in her thoughts. Damn that adventurer to all hell. Darko and his mysterious heroism. By the whispers around her, the man had already gained a reputation. Daphine would have to congratulate him when they next met. If only disasters wouldn’t so conveniently spawn wherever he traveled.

“Any survivors?” Daphine asked.

“There was a strange man,” the man said. “The Wyvern Slayer dragged him out personally.”

“His appearance? Nationality?” Daphine asked. “Was he a Gorthorn? Lashani?”

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“I wouldn’t know where to begin describing him,” the man said. “I’ve never seen anyone like him. He looked old on the face, like a human with an orc’s face, but I don’t think he was older than fifteen. And his clothes… I wouldn’t know what he wore, and I trade wardrobes for a living!”

“Did anyone else spot this man?” Daphine called. “Did anyone recognize his nationality?”

She questioned a dozen men, receiving similarly vague answers. Nobody could tell who the man was nor where he had come from. The man wore a black, possibly magically inscribed shirt with suspicious symbolling.

Daphine gritted her teeth. Nothing was going her way lately. The investigation at the Count’s mansion had to be paused before even starting, and now she had this. The men under her control were too few to catch a lost child efficiently; how did anyone expect her to sort this out as well?

“We need clues,” her escort said. “The church takes priority. Let’s clear the area before items are snatched away.”

“The Krose aren’t dishonest enough to steal from a burned church,” Daphine said. “We could leave a sack of gold at the doors, and the men would protect it with their pride. But you are right. This strange man might relate to the cult.”

She stepped inside, onto the ash-stained stone floor. The lingering smell of smoke remained, headache-inducing as ever. The site was not happy for the lungs. The citizens in charge didn’t seem to mind, pillaging the place with diligence.

Not one church official was in sight. This didn’t make sense. Surely, they hadn’t all burned? Had they escaped?

Then Daphine spotted it. A clump of black mithril lay amongst the ash in a husk. The remains of a Black Plate warrior of the cult of Azetoth. The kind that still gave Daphine’s team trouble a month ago.

“The cult attacked!” her escort whispered.

Daphine scowled. “No. I fear it’s something worse.”

Her escort stared at her questioningly.

Daphine examined the plate armor. The black mithril was scorched by the surface. Its shape was perfectly intact; the metal was far too sturdy to collapse under any heat. Yet, the wielder inside had undoubtedly burned, despite the magical protection that the armor provided.

This wasn’t the result of a normal fire. The only method to burn through magical protection was to overpower its threshold with pure heat.

“How long was the church under fire?” Daphine asked.

“Couldn’t have been over five minutes, Lieutenant,” the escort said.

“And this is the extent of the fire,” Daphine said. “This isn’t the result of a torch from the protest nor from an experiment gone wrong. Only magic could cause a fire this potent. Powerful magic.”

Her escort nodded. “A sensible conclusion. Who would do this?”

Daphine thought. No church officials were in sight; everyone involved seemed to have evacuated. If the church had been attacked by the cult, why would a black plate have been burned? The cult wouldn’t have burned their own men during an attack, and the church’s servants were not powerful enough to cast a fire of this scale.

Why, then, would a Black Plate have burned? Could the warrior have been caught in the accident?

No. This was no accident. The church, Daphine feared, was in the cult’s control. The cult had been attacked.

And all of Daphine’s senses pointed at this strange, magically infused, man.

“Gather everything unburnt that has been left behind,” Daphine ordered her escort. “Find every witness and every survivor. Find any clues about the strange man’s identity. Ask for the whereabouts of Darko, the Wyvern Slayer. We are to take control of this investigation.”

Her escort nodded. “Yes.”

You might be named a Hero this time, Wyvern Slayer, Daphine thought. But the facade will break. I find you and the strange man, and I will pry the truth.