Artyom knew he’d missed something, and now it was back to bite him in the ass. It wasn’t even anything major, like a missed hint about a looming threat, or some paramount task with an attached deadline. He’d simply forgotten to clean up after himself like a little kid forgetting to clean their room. Artyom stood exasperated in his hotel suite, surveying the damage caused by his fight with the assassins. The place was in ruins, with smashed furniture and blood everywhere. He felt sorry for the hotel staff who’d have to clean this mess up, but they’d probably call in the police or even the army to deal with the broken corpses.
The dead bodies weren’t even what got him into trouble in the first place, it was the tiny corner of a book innocuously sticking out of a pile of rubble in the kitchen. Unlike other literary works, this particular tome had two noteworthy properties responsible for dragging him into this shitshow. First was its gargantuan size, which required Artyom to repeatedly use his strengthening spells just to carry it around after he stole it from the local library. And second, the book didn’t exist. Sure, it was there and he could see it, but the material stored inside could only be described as blasphemous to the dominant religion of the Goddess of this World. In it were details of an expansive pantheon of deities whose influence reached beyond the kingdom and its culture, deities according to others simply never were.
Artyom had already found the discrepancies between that book and one published about the history of the current reigning Goddess, namely that the former’s dated events stop and the latters’ start at around 600 years ago. It was obvious to Artyom that something happened back then that collectively wiped out all trace of the old pantheon from the collective knowledge of this World. It wasn’t perfect however, since the supposedly sacreligious text still existed, and Artyom held it 600 years later. His current working theory was that it was left at the town’s library when the event took place, and its preservation enchantments kept the book from degrading.
So why didn’t anyone happen to find the book before Artyom in the 600 years it sat untouched in the reference section? Simply put, it was because the book didn’t exist. Not just with its contents this time, but the physical book itself. Sure, Artyom could see and feel it, but nobody else could. Not directly, not indirectly. Apparently, he was the only one who could even comprehend the book’s physical presence, let alone the contents inside. Well, at least that was the case until that morning. The four sirens who made up the Great Hero’s apparent harem had all seen the book peeking through the remains of the smashed kitchen cabinets and reacted very poorly to the sight. They’d hidden the expressions of horror from their faces, but they immediately left by themselves uncharacteristically and asked for another day of respite before continuing their quest. While the Great Hero thought they were shocked on Artyom’s behalf, Artyom was sure they’d finally wisened up to his true nature, and after the failed attempt on his life from the night before, they were probably planning out the details on how to finish the job themselves. However, he wasn’t going to let them beat him to the punch.
“Hey Tommy, I think I need a day to unwind after all of this too,” said Artyom, feigning shellshock. “I barely got out with my life, and I want to enjoy it before jumping back in, if that’s fine.”
“Yeah, of course, man. Take the entire day off if you need it, the others are,” replied Tommy.
“Thanks,” said Artyom, nodding his head gravely. He slowly walked out of the hotel room and out towards the town.
From his previous chats with the sirens, he’d been able to garner where each of them was from, and he planned to follow up on that information. In fact, it was the only line of questioning he was able to get a straightforward answer to. While he might not find some kind of Achilles heel from their backstories, he could still gain some kind of insight into how they fought and some hints on how to best dispatch them if it came to that.
Artyom made his way to the teleportation crystal in the town center, and after a short wait, called upon its power to whisk him away to the town of Cape Horn. A blue light overtook his vision and before he could blink, it dissipated to reveal an entirely new location. The sound of waves could still be heard, but more distant as they buffeted rocky outcroppings. Artyom stepped away from the lapis lazuli-esque stone and observed his destination.
Cape Horn was similarly a coastal town, but built on top of a sturdy cliffside overlooking the ocean on the same expansive coastline as Sandy Cove. The kaleidoscopic sun was well above the horizon now, illuminating the sparkling sea in slivers of turquoise green on top of its deep royal blue. Its light also shone across the stone buildings that made up the bulk of the town’s structures, scattering glimmers of light in all directions as its rays struck the gemstone shards embedded in each brick. Artyom couldn’t help but appreciate the magnificent sight, but he had a job to do. With a deep breath of salty air, he made his way to the imposing church building at the end of the street.
Knock, knock, knock. Artyom rapped on the front door of the church, a magnificent building that lit the town up like a disco ball when struck by sunlight. Despite the ostentatious light show it put on, the architecture of the building was incredibly humble with no showy structures or shapes beyond a few stained glass windows, just a single staggering facade. After a few seconds, the door opened to a middle aged lady dressed in priestess robes.
“Hello there, how may I help you?” she asked. “The sermon isn’t until this weekend, so you’ll have to come back then if that’s what you’re here for.”
“Actually,” replied Artyom. “I was wondering if you knew a young lady named Lensa?”
“Oh, Lensa? I do! Do you know her?” she asked, her eyes alighting with excitement. “Oh, where are my manners? Please, come in!”
The priestess led Artyom inside the building, which was decorated as humbly as it was built. Several dark wooden pews lined the central hall in front of a raised platform with a podium situated at the top. The room was painted in the color scheme of the Goddess, white with gray shapes scattered throughout. The two walked to a door at the end of the hall which led to a quaint living room with several chairs, a table, and a kitchenette. After taking a seat at the table, the priestess began talking.
“So, how do you know Lensa?” she asked, a kind expression on her face.
“We’re actually travelling together,” replied Artyom, a neutral yet friendly expression on his face.
“Oh! You must be the Great Hero then! Though you don’t really match what I’ve heard…”
“Oh no, I’m a new companion of his, I joined a few days ago.”
“Isn’t that wonderful! I’m so glad Lensa is making new friends!”
“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” replied Artyom, hesitantly. “Lensa’s been really shy and it’s been really hard for me to get to know her. She mentioned she was from Cape Horn, and I was hoping you all could tell me more about her.”
“Ah, that’s our Lensa,” mused the priestess, her eyes turning wistful. “She’s always been that way ever since we took her in as a baby. She always stood in the back of the room whenever anybody came in to get healed, but she never ran away. One day, when all of the other priests were exhausted from healing a surviving group of the Kingdom’s troops, she stepped up and healed the rest of them by herself! I tell you sir, she might look shy but when push comes to shove, she’ll stand up for what’s right!”
Artyom nodded with a placid smile on his face. It was a sweet tale told by a sweet lady. Despite his knowledge on Lensa’s true nature, everything that came out her mouth was completely sincere, even after the application of a subtle aura or two. Though there was one line of questioning he wanted to pursue.
“Say, there aren’t many other priests around today. Where are they?” asked Artyom.
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“Oh, they’re probably in the back, looking after the latest batch of troops sent back from the front lines. We’re one of the biggest healing centers in the area you know, so we get plenty of soldiers. Let me show you! I’m sure the others would also love to hear how Lensa is doing.”
The priestess got up and guided Artyom through the rest of the church building. After passing by several offices and bedrooms, they reached a large room converted into a hospital wing lined with cots full of injured soldiers, and various priests and priestesses tending to the patients.
“I hope you don’t mind blood, dear,” said the priestess.
“Don’t worry, we’ve seen plenty of it.”
“Everyone!” exclaimed the priestess in a hushed voice. “One of Lensa’s friends is here! Say hello!”
Several members of the clergy, finishing up their rounds of healing, walked up to Artyom with curiosity and wonder in their eyes. After pelting him with questions about Lensa’s wellbeing to which Artyom was able to vaguely answer, he decided to change the subject.
“So, where are all of the other children?” asked Artyom.
“Others?” replied one of the priests. He wore similar robes to the others, though ever slightly more form-fitting. His white hair contrasted with his work-tanned skin, not quite matching Artyom’s expectations of a man of the cloth. Perhaps he spent a lot of time outside before becoming a priest?
“Yeah, you mentioned taking in Lensa when she was a baby, don’t you take in abandoned kids?”
“Oh not at all,” corrected the priest. “They go to the orphanage. We don’t have the means to take care of them here when there are so few of us, especially with our existing responsibilities to the sick and injured.”
Artyom nodded at his response, a curious expression forming on his face. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but if all of that is the case, then why did you take in Lensa?”
The priest furrowed his brow in confusion. His lips curled upwards and he looked away in deep thought. After a moment of consternation, he relaxed and replied. “Well, something about our little Lensa really stood out to us. We knew she was special and that the Goddess had chosen us to take care of her.”
“I see. Thank you for your time, I think I’ve learned a lot about her.”
“I’m glad you did! I hope you can put it to good use to become closer to her!” gushed the first priestess.
Artyom concluded pleasantries with the members of the clergy and made his way back out to the town square. The sun was farther along its journey across the sky, much more than Artyom had expected. He still had three more leads to follow up on, so he picked up his pace.
Artyom frowned as he briskly walked down the street to the teleport crystal. He wanted to grill the priest more on why they decided to take in Lensa, but he felt that it wouldn’t have led to any meaningful answers, especially since the clergy members all seemed innocent of the whole Goddess conspiracy. For what he was able to learn, it was more than enough to begin coming up with a battle plan against her. If anything, it wasn’t the first time he’d fought such a cleric. Someone who was shy and stayed in the back, but was brave enough to rush out and help their allies in need. Artyom closed his eyes and let his mind go back to his first encounter.
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“Come on, move it!” shouted a woman in shining steel plate armor, as she led a squad of similarly outfitted soldiers across a smoothly paved street. “That means you, recruit!”
Artyom struggled to keep up with them while he himself was covered in the same heavy metal gear. It had been several weeks since he was summoned to a completely new World to join their fight for survival as the Chosen Hero of Prophecy. He didn’t expect an easy time or to be lauded as a hero before actually doing anything, but he did expect more… dignity.
“Coming!” shouted Artyom, sweat running down his face as he struggled to keep up with the others. Back then, he’d been a completely different person, in mind and body alike. His psyche hadn’t been hardened by years of conflict, and his body wasn’t the toned machine it was in the present, with plenty of body fat in places he didn’t want it. Still, there was no better way to get rid of said fat than with vigorous exercise, and for everything else there were the miraculous plastic-surgery-in-a-bottle potions the nobility seemed to enjoy.
“You’re supposed to be the Great Hero!” shouted the same armor-adorned woman. “Well I think the prophecy is full of shit if this is how slow you are! Now move it!”
“I’m here!” shouted Artyom again, as he pushed himself to catch up with the rest of the six soldiers. He was assigned to Commander Mara’s squad to get a feel for the army life, while learning magic from the Kingdom’s best sorcerers. Neither of them went easy on him, but at least the mages knew the meaning of mercy.
“Soldiers, halt!” shouted Commander Mara, as she turned to face the others walking behind her. “I know what you spell-slinging sissies are thinking. ‘Why are we bothering to patrol a town so far away from the fighting? It’s not like it’ll be attacked!’ Well, it’s because that’s what we were ordered to do, and unlike the mages too cowardly to show their faces on the battlefield, we’re the best at following these kinds of orders!”
Artyom was panting while hunched over, his hands on his knees while he took in quick, deep breaths of sweet air. He knew that much of Mara’s frustration was directed at him as a mage in training. From what he gleaned over the few weeks he had spent here, the soldiers of the kingdom had a longstanding feud with their more magically attuned compatriots. Mages had a better quality of life, tucked safely away as a prized resource, and kept away from the front lines. Soldiers called them soft, and they were called meatheads in return. Artyom, who studied magic in parallel to touring the front lines, didn’t do much to garner the respect of the very meatheads he was currently training with.
He internally sighed as the lecture went on, just happy to be given a chance to catch his breath. As he tried to glean any actually useful information from Mara’s speech, he could hear a faint fizzing noise. Everyone else immediately went still as they finally picked it up in their ears as well.
“Get down!” shouted Commander Mara as an ear-shattering boom and a vast plume of smoke came out of the nearby city wall. Everyone was already on the ground when the explosion rocked the area, and were unharmed by the falling debris. As they slowly got up, they were met by another squad made up of swordsmen and archers, as well as a man in priestly robes, all of them decorated in the colors of one of the enemies.
Artyom’s fellow soldiers quickly rose to their feet, weapons at the ready. Both squads’ archers fired at their opponents, each side inflicting a casualty with their armor-piercing arrows. At least, what was supposed to be a casualty. The enemy priest, who had taken cover as soon as the fighting began, rose from his position to pull out the arrow and chant a prayer whose magic closed the wound. The injured soldier now back in pristine condition got up and rejoined their ranks.
Both sides realized that a charge would be disadvantageous with the priest in play. With him hiding under cover, he could heal any of his nearby allies who got injured. He wasn’t about to expose himself unless absolutely necessary, and if he joined in a charge, all of the archers would aim for him. So until then, the archers just took potshots at each other while hiding behind the town’s buildings.
Artyom gazed at the violence unfolding in front of him from his own nook behind an upturned wooden cart. As a kid, much of the media he consumed either glorified combat or on rare occasions, reminded the viewers of the true horrors of war. He’d known he was lucky enough to grow up sheltered and secretly hoped that this new World would be like the former, where fighting would be fun. The screams of pain snapped him out of that delusion. But they made something else deep down within him snap as well.
His wide, innocent eyes went dull as they began to narrow. In that moment he knew his life was now going to be a choice between either life or death. And he was committed to life. Of course, he could’ve simply run away and let the rest of the squad handle themselves, seeing as how he had no formal combat training at all. Especially with the way they treated him, it was their fault he wasn’t able to help them if they weren’t to actually try teaching him. But as he looked upon their desperate faces and heard their wails, he knew what he had to do. Artyom threw off the armor restricting his movements with trained efficiency, ignoring his instincts to keep himself as safe as possible. The noise it would make wouldn’t keep him safe with what he was about to do. Armor off and a footstep silencing spell cast, Artyom made his way behind a dark alleyway adjacent to the battle. He tiptoed towards the enemy side, as silent and unseen as a whisper in the wind, as he made his way to one of the buildings. It was a fancy restaurant that catered to the middle class and sometimes curious nobles. Inside, Artyom sifted through a multitude of mason jars until he found two in particular whose contents shone crimson in the building’s artificial light.
Once outside, he located his targets. First was the priest, who was only barely exposed while hiding behind a large piece of the broken wall, and second was a close by enemy swordsman. Showtime. Artyom threw the first jar at the swordsman, his aim striking true as the glass shattered on his back, splashing his armor a shade of rouge. He screamed in surprise at the sneak attack and reflexively felt at the supposed injury. His face twisted in shock at the red that stained his hand, but his fear turned to confusion as he sniffed at the not-quite blood.
“Wait, ketchup?” he asked out loud. At that moment, the priest, who’d heard his screams and seen the red, jumped out of cover to lend aid.
“No wait, it’s just ketchup!” the soldier tried to shout, but it was too late. As soon as the priest fully exposed, Artyom leapt out of cover and tossed the contents of the second jar into the priest’s eyes.
Rather than something as mild as ketchup, his eyes were impacted with half a pound of finely ground chili powder. Immediately, the priest seized as he reflexively began to rub at his eyes, spreading the spice further. The pain becoming unbearable, he fell to his knees and uttered a terrible scream. The rest of Artyom’s squad, realizing that the priest was now incapacitated, charged the enemy position. The resulting skirmish was quick and messy, the enemy soldiers in retreat or dead, and the priest put out of his capsaicin-induced misery.
“Well, well well,” said Commander Mara as she approached Artyom, wiping blood off her blade. “Expect a spell sucker to pull off a move like that.”
The other soldiers began laughing, while Artyom looked down.
“But I’ve gotta admit, it was pretty clever. And it saved our asses. So good job, I guess.”
Artyom looked up in surprise at the first positive comment he’d received since joining Commander Mara’s squad. He couldn’t help but grin.
“Hey, get that ugly expression off your face! Just because you got lucky today doesn’t mean you’re any more of a soldier. Get your ass into shape and start doing it regularly, and then maybe I’ll reconsider.”
Artyom’s face fell to a stoic frown, but inside, he still held his grin.