Night had fallen completely, and Alaric was warming himself by the fire when the sound of horse hooves approached from the distance.
Pressing his ear to the ground, Alaric discerned the cluttered noise of not just one horse. Resigned to his fate, he lost the will to flee.
Even if he did run, what of his wife and children at home? Should he die, perhaps news reaching Lord Toras might spare their lives. It was just unfortunate that Mr. Byron was dragged into this mess.
With a long sigh, Alaric closed his eyes to savor the last bit of warmth from the fire.
When he reopened his eyes, he saw someone who shouldn't have been there. "Mr. Byron? You're alive?"
"I told you I'd come for you after dealing with all the problems." A ragged Byron sat down across the fire, leading three horses.
"They're all dead?" Alaric thought he might be hallucinating.
"Of course." A small smile crossed Byron's composed face. "Took the mage out first with a swift strike, then the warrior. My level may be lower, but the sword techniques passed down my family are not for show."
"And those other two? Hmph, seems they've grown complacent from living the good life. They lost their edge. Took them down without breaking a sweat."
Alaric's mind was ablaze with the revelations from Byron's brief recount. He had heard rumors that the great noble houses possessed secret sword techniques and magic taught only to their own scions, and his anticipation for Byron's swordsmanship grew. "Once I get closer to Mr. Byron, I’ll ask if he can teach it to my son."
Byron changed into a spare set of clothes from the wagon, casually showing off his new scars. When asked about his swift recovery, Byron explained he had carried potent healing potions with him.
After dinner, citing exhaustion from the battle, Byron rested—a part of his ruse.
Two peaceful days later, Byron and Alaric arrived at the barren hill trade meeting point.
While Alaric was checking the goods, a small ghost appeared beside Byron as if out of thin air.
"Lord Byron," the small ghost bowed politely.
"Rise. His Majesty sent me to check on things here."
"Lord, His Majesty may rest assured; everything is in order at the meeting point. All factions are kept busy. The only issue is, amongst the traders this time there are some new faces. When asked about it, they all gave elusive answers."
"Don't fret, that's within His Majesty's expectations. Merchants are expendable, and turnover is inevitable—no need for concern."
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"His Majesty wishes me to inform you that there could be human spies among the new traders. You may borrow some higher demons to keep order. Just ensure normal trading—if the spies aren't causing trouble, there's no need for your involvement."
"Also, from now on, we're only buying grain seeds and fabrics. Make sure the demons that need food have plenty to eat and those that require clothes have garments to wear. The rest aren't needed for now; His Majesty has his plans."
"I understand," the ghost said before fading out of sight.
Finished with the inventory, Alaric turned to see Byron leaning casually against a wooden post in the trade shed, sword in hand. "Sir, feeling tired from the wait? The transaction's done. If it’s fine with you, we’ll head back once those Goblins finish loading up."
"I'm ready anytime," replied Byron.
"Good, then let's make our way back. You'll be able to conclude your task sooner," said Alaric.
---
Within the King's Palace, at the heart of City of Meredith in the human kingdom of Heracles, the King's study received a special visitor—the Archbishop of the Church of the Victory Goddess.
"Your Majesty, the matter of the tainted crystal is grave. If left unchecked among the nobility, it could one day besmirch our holy Goddess."
The King on the chaise longue did not respond.
One the mouthpiece of the divine, the other the ruler of the human realm—their statuses were ostensibly equal.
The Archbishop, much like the King, was an elder. However, unlike the King's noble attire and demeanor, the old Archbishop wore a plain linen-white robe with not a pattern in sight, his only adornment a golden longsword pendant, the emblem of the Victory Goddess. His demeanor was sagely and serene as if detached from worldly affairs.
Yet even such a composed elder found his breath quicken after viewing the enchanting dance of succubi within the image crystal.
The serene elder vanished, replaced by a flushed, vexed churchman, who now demanded immediate punishment for the nobility, hopeful that the King would dispatch the Royal Guard to aid the Guardians of the Faith.
"This cannot be delayed. It must be dealt with severely to prevent the nobility's corruption."
"The nobles using luxury items? Can anyone prove the succubi are real? It's been generations since one was seen."
"Even so, we should arrest and punish a few as an example," he insisted.
The King looked at the enraged old man across the desk and calmly replied, "We can't. This matter is too wide-reaching. We can investigate but not punish, especially the nobility. I believe you understand the reasons better than I."
"Then what do you propose we do?" The Archbishop's tone carried an edge of interrogation rare when addressing the King.
"To leave the nobles be, punish the smugglers, as the nobles can't do much without their channels. For the nobility, have your people conduct stealthy faith tests."
"Alas, for now, that’s all we can do. One can only hope these poisonous crystals are as limited in number as the reports suggest."
The white-robed elder exited somewhat deflated, appearing even more gaunt.
"...Your Majesty, I take my leave."
"Looking forward to our next meeting."
The robed Archbishop departed. This meeting brought little aid to the current situation.
With the peace treaty nearing its end, both the kingdom and the church took the demon problem more seriously, hence their heightened interest in the smuggling of crystals. However, current human intelligence on the matter was lacking, making an informed judgment on the situation impossible.
As for the faith test, it was a special divine art the Church of the Victory Goddess had used for hundreds of years to gauge believers' loyalty.
Bishops and priests proficient in this divine art could send their subjects into a dreamscape filled with temptations of the original sins and sense the choices one would make, evaluating their piety based on adherence to the Goddess's teachings.
Unused for decades, this long-standing divine art was now called upon once again.