The paved road to Undergrowth was a pale scar upon the swampland. Along its length, Gerald led a single-file procession.

Following closely behind him was [Acolyte] Anna. Her bright, watery eyes swept over the marsh. Every time a branch moved in the wind, or a frog stirred a current, she would snap her gaze to it warily, thumbing the cleaver at her side. It was her first time leaving the Jointed Chapel’s grounds for an extended period. Some anxiety, Gerald reflected, is only natural.

The second [Acolyte]—Ribb—was dragging his feet. Often he slowed enough to obstruct the [Penitents] behind him; one would poke him gently in the back, and he’d sprint up to Anna once more. Far be it from me to question the judgment of Father Ache, but... I’m doing just that. Is Ribb really worth the effort of carrying to Suzemony? He seems careless.

Behind Ribb, four [Penitents] were a shapeless, hooded mass. They kept their heads bowed and their faces obscured. Gerald’s thoughts were harshest to them.

Weaklings.

The seven had set out in the morning. Now the sun was looming just above the horizon. Night would soon fall; tents and a watch were necessary.

Gerald turned around to coordinate his party. At that moment, he saw in the extreme distance...

A plume of smoke.

It rose from the position of the Jointed Chapel. Beside the sprouting dark pillar, there were grand flashes of Blessed lightning visible to even Gerald.

Shamefully, his first thought was not of Desmond.

The Jointed Chapel is under siege! Father certainly won’t spare additional men for my mission to Undergrowth.

No, that’s not the problem. A deity derives power from its worshipers, after all... Oh no. I get it! We’re a contingency plan for the worst-case scenario! If Father Ache somehow perishes, the Jointed Goddess will live on in Undergrowth.

Provided I can complete my mission, that is.

“[Penitent] Gerald?”

Anna followed his gaze and tilted her head.

Why can’t she see it? No, rather, why could I notice it over such a vast distance?

Gerald shook the cobwebs free from his brain. “Right. [Penitents], set up our tents. No fire. We don’t know what kinds of beasts lurk in the night around here.”

Also, I refuse to give away our position to the Orthodoxy!

The robes shuffled about, producing packs, hammering stakes. Gerald oversaw them without lifting a finger.

Instead he turned his head to Ribb, smiling thinly. “[Acolyte] Ribb, I’ve been told you need a personal tent due to your affliction. I regret that an extra tent was not possible to procure for you. Will accommodations with one other serve?”

Ribb shrugged. His deep crow's feet and wide eyelids made him seem perpetually dazed. “...[Penitent] Gerald. My roommate would still be in danger. But I fail to see how that would be necessary.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. We're seven travelers. An odd number. You say I need to bunk, but... no matter how you slice us, the only way I'd need a roommate is if another person was sleeping alone instead of me.”

Gerald motioned him to continue. After a slight moment's pause, Ribb did.

“If there were four two-person tents, I could sleep alone in the fourth. If there were three three-person tents, I could rest by myself in the third. On the other hand... if the number of tents were lacking, I would need to sleep cramped together with at least two others. But you didn't say two. You said ‘one other’.”

He's sharp! I fell for his dopey facade!

“[Penitent] Gerald,” continued Ribb. “If you want me to discipline someone, order me honestly. This cloak and dagger chicanery is beneath us.”

And he’s got a scholar’s vocabulary! What the hell is chicanery?

Gerald cleared his throat. “Of course. My apologies. I’d like you to break...”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

He gestured to one of the penitents as they hammered away.

“His arm.”

Ribb’s gaze was intense. “Nothing else?”

Gerald met it calmly. “Of course not. Despite this necessary punishment, we still need to travel as a unit through much dangerous wilderness.”

Ribb nodded. The suspicion on his face eased up. The [Penitent] swung his hammer at the instant his elbow joint locked up. By then, it was too late to stop the momentum.

The sound of shattering bone echoed through the dark marshland. The other Rank 1 [Penitents] winced in collective sympathy.

That should be enough to qualify as a Major Injury.

“Our Lady!” swore Gerald, jogging over to the injured [Penitent]. “What happened, lad?”

Though he was sure they were far enough away that his command wasn’t overheard, the [Penitent] still stared with fear and suspicion. His gaze flicked between Gerald, who was immediately before him, and Ribb, who watched the proceedings from a distance with an eerie amount of focus.

“Nothing, [Penitent] Gerald,” gulped the man. “I must’ve pulled something swinging too hard.”

He must assume the [Acolyte] inflicted the wound behind my back... but he doesn’t even have the guts to accuse Ribb?

Weaklings, the lot of them.

“A worrisome omen. You rest for now, then, and consider what you might have done for fate to turn against you so.”

...

Eight minutes later, Gerald knew the Major Injury must have worsened. After all, it was within the range of the Gutted Man’s Boon.

(Passive) Gutted Man’s Boon [Minor] L.1 ⊙︎

Major Injuries within ten meters worsen by 3 Max HP every 8 minutes.

[Minor] bonus: When you become splattered in fresh blood, recover 4 HP throughout the next 6 seconds.

But the only sign was a slight grimace at the side of the aggrieved party’s mouth. He made no move to inform Gerald, content to bear it.

That won’t do at all. After I ‘failed to notice’ Ribb’s attack, he seems to have lost trust in me as a leader.

The tents were complete now. Healthy [Penitents] were rolling dice to decide the watch. Gerald wandered up to them.

“I'll take the first shift with your injured fellow. You three rest well.”

They bowed.

Night had truly fallen now. Gloom leaned out from the trees and dripped into marsh puddles. The world was only lit by starlight.

Sixteen minutes later, the [Penitent] beside Gerald moaned in despair.

“What's the matter?”

“[Penitent] Gerald, my injury...”

The robe pulled up his sleeve, revealing a human arm. Spreading from his elbow was a spider-web of lacerations. It had already overtaken the [Penitent's] shoulder and wrist. Even now, flakes of red drifted from the wound. They hit the ground softly; like snow.

So that's what it looks like, thought Gerald. It's far too conspicuous.

“Oh, good lady!” he wailed. “What kind of terrible curse has befallen you?! I'm afraid you are fated to perish!”

The party—except Ribb—stumbled from their tents at this, bleary-eyed and frightened.

“[Acolyte] Anna. Though it pains me to say it, he will not survive the night. Do him a mercy and carry out his expulsion to the Vast Underworld.”

The [Penitent] rose on shaky feet. Realization dawned in his expression as he stared at Gerald.

Curse me to your last breath. Or fight back. Struggle! Show me your life has value!

He squared his stance and turned to Anna. Fists raised. From his cracked lips:

“I never had a chance. Why resort to this?”

Not like that! You're full of openings! Have you ever even fought someone barehanded?!

Anna slid the cleaver from her belt. Moonlight glinted on its edge. It was no sacrificial dagger, enchanted by Father Ache to bring certain death. But it was enough.

“May you find peace in the Vast Underworld.” she intoned.

Her first slash cut deep into the sacrifice's injured arm. He howled, bestial, as he drove the other fist into Anna's stomach. She stumbled back. Frowned.

And then began the second reason Gerald avoided Fist as Weaponry.

Anna danced out of range.

For Blessed, glancing blows were enough. The [Penitent] swung and charged wildly, but he was never close enough to strike back. Anna's blade was cautious, biding its time until the moment where the man overextended.

There was a glint of starlight. A wide cut opened on his chest.

Her cleaver picked up nicks and chips from the aura. Anna herself was unharmed.

The dance continued. Gerald saw the other [Penitent's] mounting desperation. It was in the little things. A reckless charge. A wild swing. His gnashing teeth, under the hood.

Of course, this revealed further openings.

When Anna stood over the corpse, exhaling softly, she had only taken one blow. It was the punch from the start.

I expected nothing and was still disappointed. The other [Penitents] lack that enduring, human spirit! It's practically butchery.

Gerald stared at the savaged body. He realized he was hyperventilating.

They're only animals. They must not be human. Or...

That night, Gerald couldn't sleep.