City life isn’t so bad, really, thinks Canta as he stares at the upside down building. Sure, there are a lot of people here, far more than he is used to, and he's also a bit of a celebrity too. That’s kind of fun on the first day, but then it does get annoying immediately after that. On the other hand, there’s so much food, though.

Ah…

– He ate so much last night. Real food. It was the best. Meat. Stews. Bread. BREAD. It was real, hot, fresh bread. It was heavenly.

He can feel his stomach grumble as the wind pushes past his face. The building leaves his sight as his vision is filled with dirt. He tumbles back to the ground for the eighth or ninth time this morning. Canta had asked Salvador to be the one to train him how to fight; he had taken a liking of sorts to the old man, plus he seemed like he would go easy on him.

This didn’t work out, however. Salvador had simply said that he wasn’t interested, despite Canta’s arguments as to what a great honor it would be to train the sin-eater. Instead, the other palatinos, the woman from the day of their arrival, has been made his instructor, and she seems to have taken a personal disliking to him, which he thinks is perhaps unfair given that he is beyond likable. Although, to be fair, he did threaten her yesterday.

The thought that maybe the Demon-King isn't that bad of a guy returns to him now and then. He’s sure they'd get along great. Maybe the Demon-King just became the Demon-King because everyone was a dick to him? It makes sense to Canta. He lifts his face out of the dirt, looking up at her as she cracks her neck.

There is clapping from the side. “You’re doing great, honeycakes!” cheers Alleluia, who was surprisingly accepting of him tussling with a woman. Although, ‘tussling’ is a bit of an overstatement. He’s really just getting thrown around. On the plus side, he’s really starting to nail the landings.

Canta honestly isn’t sure who he resents the most at this moment. The palatinos, who is knocking him around, even if it is to teach him how to fight, or just himself for letting it all turn into this. He wonders what his life would have been like if he had just... gone left in the dungeon back then? He bets it would have been nice.

The bishop was more than delighted to house them and to feed him, but the price was that Canta had to immediately undergo combat-training, education, as well as holy-work in order to prepare him for his inevitable battle with the Demon-King. Canta didn’t mind the first two so much, but he isn’t so sure about the holy-work that's scheduled to be after his book-learning session. He’s not much of a believer, really. Plus, it’s literally the next day. The bishop had explained that it’s important to mold minds while they’re still young and soft, which was a little creepy to hear, but also not entirely wrong.

He gets up, dusting himself off. He has some real clothes now, which he is more than thankful for. He had set himself the personal goal of utterly destroying the old clothes as soon as he had changed into his new outfit, simple trousers and an off-white button up of a more modern cut. But by the time he had finished changing, Alleluia had hidden them from him.

“That won’t work, sin-eater,” says the woman, readying herself for another push of his. “You can’t just run at a problem over and over, just because your body can heal itself,” she explains.

“It’s worked well enough to get me this far,” argues Canta, as he rolls his shoulder and gets ready to charge her again. Although, he isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do, even if he manages that – Gnaw on her? The amazonian woman is even bigger than Alleluia is. He doubts that he can even reach her neck or head to gnaw on to begin with. The rest of her body is covered in ornate plate armor.

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s flying off again, noticing that his jaw seems to not be where it should be.

He crashes against the ground, sliding to a halt after a few feet. “It will get you no further,” lectures a stern voice. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the sun as he feels his jaw pop back into place.

Actually, maybe city-life does blow a little? As terrible as it was, he’s oddly nostalgic about being down in the dungeon. Life was simpler then. He closes his eyes, listening to Alleluia’s excited clapping.

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

After the session ends an hour later and he is freed from his tribulations, Canta is picked up by head-priest Valenti, who is more than excited to educate him about the world and its history. Canta appreciates his admiration for him, but it also feels like a little too much sometimes. The man is kind of a creepy zealot. But…

– Valenti raises a hand, stopping Alleluia from following them. “Forgive me,” he says, lowering his head in a bow. “But there are things that I am not allowed to say in the presence of a refined lady such as yourself.” Valenti gestures to Canta. “I humbly request to borrow your husband for the afternoon.”

Canta’s eye twitches, but he holds his mouth, liking where this is going. Alleluia frowns, crossing her arms. “But we haven’t really been apart since we met…”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Mm!” says head-priest Valenti with a smile which Canta can’t help but recognize as… villainous. He isn’t being humble. Canta recognizes that look. This is a scheme. “Surely a woman of your stature needs some attending to, as well?” He snaps his fingers and a group of priestesses comes over, carrying trays covered in combs, brushes and all manner of oddities that Canta doesn’t recognize in the least. Her eyes go wide as she looks at them. “In exchange for him, I offer you these attendants.”

She looks back at Canta, appearing worried, which he finds touching and also annoying at the same time. “No.”

Valenti hadn’t expected this. Canta sees his face shift, before hardening again a fraction of a second later.

“I want to stay with him,” she explains.

“But then I can’t instruct him,” argues Valenti.

“It’ll be fine,” says Canta, looking up at her as he walks over and starts turning her crank, which doesn’t need to be turned yet, but he’s just doing it to keep her topped up. “We’ll meet up again tonight, okay?”

Alleluia shifts uncertainly. “No.”

Canta sighs. “In the dungeon, I came all the way to get you, didn’t I?”

She frowns. “You only came to get me because of the shortcut.”

“That’s not true,” says Canta, not sure if that’s actually the case or not. Sure. At first, that was actually true. But then later on, he genuinely wanted to go get her. As for how he feels now, well, it’s confusing. “I’m not going to dump you off at some church,” he says, and for this very second at least, it’s true. All bets are off for five minutes from now, though.

Man. Maybe he hasn’t fixed his personality problem at all? Canta blinks, thinking about himself for a moment.

“You promise?” she asks, still unhappy about it.

“I promise,” says Canta. The priestesses, apparently being master social strategists, have already begun swarming around Alleluia, pulling her hand and talking about how they want to brush her hair. Frowning, she lets herself get pulled away, making a face that Canta would only describe in a private journal that nobody could ever read as heartbreaking.

In this plane of existence, however, he looks up towards Valenti. “You clever fuck. You came prepared.”

Valenti smiles a chipper smile, turning to walk the other way. He nods his head, gesturing for Canta to follow. “I used to be married. It was a very educational experience.”

“Huh? You?” asks Canta, walking after him. “How did that turn out?” he asks. “Did she get eaten too?”

Valenti smiles the most peaceful smile that Canta has ever seen from a living entity. “I became a holy-man and swore off of their kind until the end of days,” says the head-priest as he walks through the rays of the sun and through the ambient birdsong, both of which Canta would swear have suddenly become more noticeable, as if the gods themselves had chosen to accentuate this man in this moment for reasons unknown. “Don't let people own your feelings just because you're trying to be kind, sin-eater,” explains Valenti.

Canta nods, having decided that Valenti is kind of a weirdo and a creep, but he likes him a lot too. The whole line about things that he couldn’t say in Alleluia's presence was total bullshit. He just wanted Canta to be a separate entity from her for a few hours, saying that it’s important for the male mental state to have not only some positive social experiences with others but also just ‘guy time’ too. Canta reminds him that he had an old life before this one.

“What happened to it?” asks Valenti jokingly. “Did it get eaten?”

Canta pauses for a moment, not entirely sure what the answer to that question is, actually.

Valenti’s education program, however, is less than entertaining, starting off with general history and the lore of the nation. Canta makes it painfully clear that he doesn’t care about either of these things. Seeing this, Valenti moves on to simple mathematics. Canta pretends to listen, chewing on his writing-implement. He wonders if Alleluia will go back with him to the dungeon and if they can’t just live down there forever. It wasn’t so bad, right?

Although, now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t think that he’d be able to find the way back.

After the lesson ends and he has chewed through his pen to the point that it no longer functions, Canta heads to a small chapel that Valenti had pointed out. It’s on the edge of the cathedral walls, almost like a gate.

The cathedral as a whole is very castle-like. Large, white stone walls line this inner area, which is filled with very bright, very green grass and a few trees. Stone paths and fountains line it, going every which way. It’s very idyllic and scenic, honestly. Although, apparently, the people from the city outside of the cathedral’s walls aren’t welcome here, at least not regularly. He wonders if there is some sort of noble or caste system at play? Or maybe the bishop just doesn’t want people wandering around his home, which Canta thinks is fair enough.

The large wooden door of the chapel has a smaller door built into it that he pushes open. It’s a simple, small church with old, seemingly unused pews on either side. Near the end of it is a small stage, and in the back corner of that is a confession-booth.

“Welcome, sin-eater,” says a familiar voice. Canta looks at the face that he recognizes as belonging to the priestess from the village, the one with whom he had performed the last rights for the dying together. Her long black hair is tied back in two braided tails as before.

“Ah, fuck,” sighs Canta. “It had to be you,” he says, shaking his head.

The priestess blinks, looking a little wounded as she sets her book down. “Oh… do I offend you?” she asks. “I washed right after we returned,” she explains, lifting an arm and looking underneath it.

“What? No,” replies Canta, waving her off. “I just thought that this is gonna be awkward now.”

She thinks for a moment, her fingers tapping against her book. “Because I thought you were a girl?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the funny clothes you had on?” she asks.

“Yes,” he answers, lifting an eyebrow.

“Because of the embarrassing stories that your wife told everybody?” she asks.

“Yes!” barks Canta, getting annoyed now.

“Because of -”

“– Enough!” he snaps. “One more word and you’re going straight to hell!” he snaps, pointing to the ground.

She frowns at him. “Would you like some water?”

Canta narrows his eyes. “Is there mud in it?”

“Would you like me to get some?” she retorts, tilting her head.

Canta looks at her in uncertainty. “…Was that a joke, or are you being serious?”

“That depends. Were you?” she asks.

He blinks, considering her question for a moment. As he does so, he realizes that he was being a dick again. He still feels validated in his dickery, but maybe just because he feels like he’s right to be a dick doesn't mean that actually being one will make things better. His shoulders droop, and he sighs. “Sorry, sorry, no. No, you’re good,” he lifts a hand, waving to her. “I’m just cranky because I’m hungry,” he lies.

“So that’s a yes on the mud?” she asks him.

Despite his confusion for what this new life is turning out to be so far, Canta finds himself laughing, feeling generally lighter in the spirit rather suddenly.

She smiles, getting up and grabbing a bag as she heads over to the confessional. “It is awkward,” she explains. “But when I remember that night in the village, I think that it’s okay,” says the priestess softly, setting down the large bag outside of the curtain to the confessional. Canta looks into it, it’s filled with thin, edible wafers. “The last sin-eater was a really bad person, I’m told,” she says, looking at him. Of course, at this point, Canta expects a compliment about his unbridled kindness and generosity in that desperate hour. Finally, there's someone here who’s able and willing to show him some true validation and recognition for his troubles. Finally, he's going to hear something nice. “– So I suppose it isn’t that big of a deal if you’re kind of a degenerate.”

“STRAIGHT TO HELL!” yells Canta, grabbing a handful of wafers from the bag and shoving them into his mouth.