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Chapter 72 Wanted

The white-armored knight urged his horse forward, recognizing the black guard’s armor style, and inquired, "I'm a Faith Guardian sent from the capital. Could you direct me to the City of Gath Cathedral?"

"Keep going straight, take the third left, and you'll walk right into it. Anything major going down?" Murphy answered for the clueless Doyle.

The Faith Guardian on horseback couldn't quite place Murphy but was wary of crossing the black guard nearby.

Byron stepped up, "This gentleman here is the mightiest mage in the Viscount’s domain, and I'm the newly appointed Viscount Reed's heir. We are entitled to know what's happening in our territory."

Doyle's gaze clung to the hesitant Guardian. With a twinge of guilt, the white-knight replied, "The Dean of the Cathedral in the Duke's chief town of Lofca, Priest Lambert, has been tainted by demonic words and has defected. The Holy Council has issued a warrant, dead or alive, reward one thousand gold coins."

Taking a deep breath, the Guardian continued, "All signs suggest Lambert fled south from the cathedral, so he could be hiding within the Viscount Baker’s domain, Viscount Reed’s territory, or the southern Duchy."

Murphy exhaled a silent sigh of relief. They called everyone out for this bit of fluff? I know where Lambert is. Should be mowing my lawn right about now.

"Can you tell us about Lambert's level and abilities? He sounds like a real handful. He's not a high-ranking clergy member, is he?" Murphy feigned concern.

"Lambert is a level fifty middle-tier priest. After his betrayal, he shouldn’t be able to invoke divine magic willingly. Physically, he’s as tough as a level twenty-five warrior—a tough nut to crack."

Murphy gave a relieved chuckle, "Well, that’s a load off, isn't it? I happen to be a level fifty mage, living in City of Gath for the time being. If he shows his face around here, you can bet I'll be a thousand gold richer very soon."

Mounted Faith Guardian sighed with relief, "Thank you kindly, Mr. Mage. Your assurance is most reassuring. Captain of the Guards, Lord Reed, I must proceed to the cathedral with all haste.”

After saluting the group, the Faith Guardian rode off into the city through the route Murphy pointed out.

Doyle hedged, "Maybe I should stick around a little longer? Are you two going to be able to handle it?"

Byron waved off the concern, "Nobody guards against thieves for a thousand days straight. Once you're off, I’ll have the town watch step up patrols. With Mr. Murphy here, we should fend for ourselves just fine."

After pondering for a moment, Doyle said, "Fair enough, just make sure you nab that glory by looking after your own skin, eh? Could give you a bit more clout when the real fight kicks off."

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"Always caring, mate. You'll always be my best friend," Byron said with such sincerity that even Murphy couldn’t tell if it was genuine.

Watching the black-guard squad vanish around the bend of the kingdom road, Byron and Murphy exchanged looks before heading back into the city.

---

At dusk, Lambert, lugging a basket of vegetables for tomorrow's meals, made his way back to Number two, Clyster Street. As the most voracious eater of the team, he had stepped into the role of a novice cook, now reasonably skilled to make meals that wouldn’t be regurgitated.

Walking down the famed Herbert Street in the North District, which led directly to the City of Gath's cathedral, ergo often called Cathedral Street, Lambert longed once more to feel the gaze of the divine, to pray in the cathedral, perhaps even enjoy a wafer or two.

Caught in this reverie, he found himself in the middle of the street where a roaring wind snapped him back to reality.

A city dweller for years, Lambert recognized the sound instantly—it was the rush of wind from hooves pounding on city cobblestone.

He turned and dodged just in time, as a horse sped by. Though he was unscathed, his vegetables were scattered.

In the city, such riding meant urgent business or noble brats you'd be wise to steer clear of. Either way, they were trouble Lambert couldn't afford to provoke.

Seething but saying nothing, he stooped lower to collect his produce, only looking up to realize his assaulter was in white armor, broadsword on his back.

He’s here!

Lambert’s heart raced. He feigned calm, scooped up the veggies, and hastened back to Number two, Clyster Street.

Before he got far, however, hooves echoed behind him again. Bracing for the worst, he was surprised to see, not a Faith Guardian, but a novice monk from the cathedral holler as he rode, clutching parchment:

"Fallen Priest Lambert, middle-aged, medium build, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a beard. Reward: 1000 gold coins, dead or alive, plus a hundred gold for credible information! Report any sightings directly to the cathedral."

The monk sped past Lambert, now an inconspicuous vegetable-handling manservant, and made for the western district notice board to post the bounty.

Once the monk had gone, and the crowd's curiosity peaked, Lambert slipped through the onlookers to sneak a peek at the portrait. Indeed, it was him.

Perhaps because he’d lost his last shred of hope, Lambert was oddly composed, one thought pounding in his head: Survive. Clear your name.

With the crowds abuzz, he squeezed out, hunching under the dusky sky toward Number two, Clyster Street, the bystanders' chatter ringing in his ears:

“A grand in gold? Blimey!"

"Quit dreaming. A thousand gold bounty? Guy must be a handful; we’d just be lambs to the slaughter."

"True, but how in blazes does a decent priest go off the rails like that?"

"Must be some cult thing. My gran used to say they were active decades back, before they got cornered...”

"Wouldn’t mind that hundred gold tip-off bounty, no need to get our hands dirty..."

Hearing this, Lambert mulled over a troubling thought, "That mage wouldn't turn me in, would he? A thousand gold isn't chump change."

"If he fingers me as a cultist, I'll dub him a dark sorcerer. They'd be mad to think they'll get out of this alive!"

This idle conjecture was cut short as Lambert reached Number two, Clyster Street, where Murphy casually leaned against the iron gate.

Prepared to come clean, Lambert steelted himself to speak when Murphy beat him to it: "Pick up veggies again? Let's have someone else do it tomorrow; it’s too risky."

Lambert looked up in astonishment, finding Murphy's easy smile, "What's with the look? The whole town's plastered with your wanted posters. They got your likeness down pat."

Lambert let out a laugh through his tears.

Murphy slung an arm over Lambert’s shoulder, steering him into the yard, "What are you blubbering for? We're all teammates here. I know you’ve been set up, alright? A man in his thirties sniveling, I mean, really..."