Jotar hated guard duty at the shrine to Havo, praised be her Mind. Jotar hated guard duty at night. Jotar especially hated guard duty with the haughty Giso. Tonight was the trifecta of misery for Jotar. While he did not have a particular dislike for the shrine itself, the fact that it was utterly useless to guard it was what irked him so. No sane Havoyan would even think of blaspheming the shrine, and travelers or immigrants knew better than to piss off the well-armed and zealous Havoyans, so the chances of it being vandalised were close to nil. That, along with it being closed at night, ensured it would be a long, uneventful waste of time. Normally, he would take the opportunity to sit down with his fellow guard and play a game of Urm, but the stuck-up Giso would likely report him to their superior for disregarding his duty.

Jotar snuck a glance to his right at the other guardsman. Even now while no one was paying attention, he stood straight as the stick in his ass, watching the approach to the gate like a hawk.

Well, he does have something to prove, Jotar conceded. Giso needed to show his worth as third-born of his Noble house, and could not afford anything less than stellar performance. If he performed well, he would rise through the ranks more quickly than any lowborn ever could.

Sadly, Jotar had to acknowledge that part of his enmity towards Giso was out of envy. Jotar too worked hard every day, honing his skills with the glaive and shield, but would probably not be recognized for it. Giso also just did his best. Yet Jotar simply couldn't make himself like his fellow Havoyan.

Jotar looked behind them at the object of his duty. Beyond the open gate in the high brick wall, in the middle of the spotless white square, stood the shrine to Havo. Every Havoyan man, woman, and child in the city made a trek outside the city gates over the paved road at least once a month to pay their respects to the statue of the woman underneath the red tiled roof, supported at its corners by intricately carved wooden pillars. The offerings of the day had been collected, most of it supposedly going to the maintenance of the shrine and the Shrine Path, least of it to the livelihood of its monks. He envied those monks at times. Sure, a life of celibacy wasn't something to look forward to, but being paid to just chant all day and bless people didn't seem too bad. Then Jotar would think of how bored he would be, and the feeling would be dismissed quickly.

Jotar could sometimes get lost in the object of the monks' worship, though. The statue of Havo sometimes almost felt alive, with how realistic the marble looked. Even the hair had been carved out, and the hand resting on her naked hip actually seemed to press into flesh. Her eyes genuinely looked caring, as she reached out to her praying followers. The scar on her exposed chest, imitated in some way by every Havoyan family with their own version, seemed as if it was recently carved into it, though Jotar knew the original sculptor was long dead.

"We should be watching the road", Giso declared without even looking at Jotar. Ass.

"I know, just checking to see if she is still there", Jotar mocked, turning back.

Giso scoffed at the remark. "You can still look at her for the rest of your life whenever you're on guard duty. There's no need to take it all in at once."

Jotar silently ground his teeth at that. "Perhaps it's you who should regard her more. You know, before your uncle promotes you somewhere else."

Giso ignored that, but the uncomfortable silence only grew. Jotar refused to be the one to break it, and was relieved when Giso conceded after a few minutes.

"I'm making another round. Keep your eyes on the road, and watch the edge of the forest." Giso stiffly turned, and walked through the gate, keeping close to the wall and beginning an overly meticulous inspection of the shrine grounds. Jotar was thinking of something to annoy him with for when he returned, when both guards were suddenly alerted by the sound of something violently shattering. They both quickly assumed a stance with their glaive and shield, ready to attack, but the moonlight only shone upon a splintered object marring the surface of the floor in front of the statue of Havo. Giso was closer, and quickly inspected what it was. He knelt down at the object.

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"What the hell is thi-" Giso began, before the body of a man suddenly but violently impacted with the top of his head. What resulted was a sickening wet crunch and a sticky red dye being spread over the formerly pristine shrine grounds.

Jotar reeled back in shock, the force of the impact not sparing his sandaled feet from the crimson splatter.

Where there had been his fellow guardsman but a moment ago, was now a figure clad in black and blood, motionless amidst the Noble's gory remains.

"By Havo," Jotar couldn't help but call out to the bloodstained Goddess, as he cautiously approached the figure.

…

As warm air made its way back into Simon’s lungs, he regained consciousness. An awful smell was the first thing that hit him, and his face rested in something warm and sticky. He was alive at least. He slowly opened his eyes to a sideways world, where the white wall was bathed in moonlight and what looked like blood. Simon groaned and slowly pushed himself up. He looked in front of him, straight at a naked white-skinned woman. He was startled for a brief second before he realized he was looking at an incredibly lifelike statue.

“Ochari musen! Ochari musen! Istan hola eral!” A voice yelled behind him. Simon froze in place. Slowly, realization dawned on him. In all of the possibilities he’d considered of where he might land, on top of some unfortunate soul was one he had discarded as highly unlikely almost immediately. The Impact Counter had reduced the poor thing to mush, but judging by the shield and the pole with a sharp blade attached to one end lying next to him, he figured it might be a soldier of sorts. The panicked voice behind him continued in its unintelligible tongue, and he slowly raised his hands over his head as he got up to his knees.

As far as Simon could see, this was definitely bad. He did not know how far the voice behind him was, but judged it to be a few meters at most. He was kneeling in the moonlight, with the closest shadow under the roof over the statue in front of him. From what he could tell, he had a few options, and little time to act on one. While he stalled by slowly getting up with his hands raised, he thought of what to do.

Communicating seemed right out. He did not understand what the voice was saying, and tempting the panicked man into a game of charades seemed unlikely. A fight was possible. His dagger was still at his waist, and if his Dagger Mastery would be of any help it might offer a way out. But if the voice was another armed soldier holding a glaive, he did not like his odds considering he hadn’t actually fought with the dagger yet. Fleeing seemed like the way to go. If he could get among the trees he saw towering over the walls of the little square, he would be gone in a flash. However, he would likely be a wanted man. Someone covered in blood and dressed in all-black was easily recognizable as a murderer, he figured. Damn it!

Simon made his decision. He leapt for the statue, aiming for the shadow so he could Blink towards the equally shadowy wall on his left and climb over it. The plan was foiled immediately as his slick sole slipped out from underneath him and he nearly fell back on his face, barely catching himself. The voice behind him acted on his escape attempt, and a sharp blade appeared over his right shoulder, firmly pressed against his neck. Simon froze. The voice spat some more gibberish at him, the panic in it having made way for resolve. A hand reached around him, feeling for the clasp on his belt, and taking it off him.

“I’m not your enemy. This is all just a mistake.” Simon spoke in the hopes that his language was known to his captor. Slowly, his captor turned around Simon, his blade constantly poised to strike. When the young man came in sight, Simon was relieved to confirm that he was at least somewhat human. He’d hoped as much after seeing the statue, but it was nice to have some definitive proof. However, there were two things that were very different from where he came from.

The man in front of him was about as tall as the Whisper, with curly blonde hair and a sharp nose. He might be considered handsome back on Earth, if not for the second pair of arms growing out from behind the first pair. His right pair of arms firmly held the glaive in place, while his left held a kite shield and Simon’s belt.

Now that Simon took a better look at the statue behind the weird hexa-human, he noticed that her rear pair was clasped behind her, with the front pair resting on her left hip and holding out a hand in a gesture of aid. Good thing I didn’t try to fight. No way I could fight four fucking arms.

He reminded Simon of a Roman soldier, but in a blue and brown outfit of sandals, skirt and cuirass with a shirt underneath. The soldier gestured Simon to get up with his glaive, and Simon did. Then, Simon was pointed in the direction of a gate, so he turned around, and started walking down the white flagstone road into the forest.