Father Ache’s office was filled with ornate iron skulls. Upon each forehead was carved a numeral. They ranged from I to V, and the latter variety were myriad. There was but a single skull trophy marked with an I; it was silvered, on the center-most of pedestals.

Gerald stood against his cane and moved as little as possible. Only his eyes shifted over the priest’s collection. Father Ache, sitting, read through the report that Gerald had delivered.

I can’t stand still for much longer. My leg aches. How cruel! But it’s his right. The mountain of dead he’s left behind in his journey towards Rank 5... Well, I suspect they’re enshrined on the shelves behind him.

Father Ache turned his milky eyes on Gerald. His mouth was a severe line.

“You rate this burden highly, to give up that expedition you were working towards.”

Of course he already knows. [Acolyte] Anna must have reported first. Or perhaps the shadows themselves whisper into his ears?

Gerald bowed his head. “I have no excuse to offer. Caring for a child is simply something I must do.”

Father Ache did not often emote. Still, that twitch at the edge of his cheeks... Disappointment?

The man folded leathery hands upon his desk. “Do you know why I pardoned you, [Penitent] Gerald? Let’s not mince words. I see you as you see me; a predator content to lie among sheep.”

A cold wind blew down Gerald’s spine. He could tell? He swallowed, then opened his mouth-

“No, Gerald, don’t bother denying it. Behind that submissive smile is an ambitious mind.”

“...I’m flattered you think I'm dangerous, Father,” said Gerald.

“Hah!” The shepherd’s laugh was a sharp bark. “Not to me. Not for several years. And you never will be, if you choose this path. I’ll speak plainly. The others at Rank Four are content. They attend sermons, but they no longer practice their Blessed gifts. I’m sure you know of Levels?”

Gerald shook his head. “No, Father.”

He scowled. “What is Anna teaching you? Nevermind that. I suppose it isn’t relevant until Rank 2, and she suspects you’ll never reach even that. Look upon your gift. Do you see the L, number, and eye beside it?”

(Passive) Aura of Thorns L.1 ⊙︎

“Yes, Father.”

His lips quirked. “Good. The L is Level. The eye denotes a gift at its peak Level for your Rank. When you undergo Suzemony, that symbol will vanish. Your limits will expand, and only fervent practice will reach them again. I believe... to be eligible at Rank 2 you must reach Level 5 in your original ability? Regardless, once all your Blessings have an eye, you’re ready for another Suzemony.”

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Details joined together in Gerald’s mind. A shock of endless light and shadows of his own situation. Epiphany.

I see where this is going.

“While we’re speaking plainly. Not a day goes by when I don't agonize over my relative weakness within my Rank. You’ve reached your peak, haven’t you, Father? And no Emissary wishes to join you in Rank 5, lest they be killed by a better version of the same Class.”

Father Ache stared at Gerald. Then, harsh laughter bubbled free of his chest. it rolled over the office, bounced off the skulls, battered Gerald into a shivering fear. It was the laugh of a coyote; no, perhaps a beast more exotic and deadly... a hyena?

“Indeed, [Penitent] Gerald. But in the years since our Jointed Goddess revealed herself, we have seen no [Penitents] reach even Rank 3. You were willing to gamble your life once. Now, here’s my wager. I bet a Rank 5 [Acolyte] can kill a Rank 5 [Penitent] easily. And if you bet against me, I’ll favor you, aid you, and protect that other burden until you return from your excursion.”

Groomed to duel the Father? When I can’t even stand to look in his blind eyes? But I don’t have a choice. Refusal to climb the ranks could see me sacrificed by my betters regardless.

And that boy...

Gerald thought of Desmond, weak, frail, trusting his life to strangers and cultists because he had no other choice.

“It’s a cunning deal, Father. I fear I shall have to take it.”

“Of course you do. We’re the same type of man, for all we rest in different fundamental strata.”

Father Ache smiled like the kind uncle he had been months ago, listening to Gerald scream and spit in the pubs.

I hate him. I’ll kill him for this someday.

But for now, I can only curse myself.

----------------------------------------

In the morning, Gerald stepped onto a caravan heading toward the Gnarl of Blood.

It was a blighted pustule upon the land; an offshoot biome of the Peeking Woods that had become particularly vicious and spiteful. However, it had appeared on a major trade route between two of the Orthodoxy’s cities. Oh, sure, you could travel around it... If you had weeks to spare. Over the past two years of its life, many merchants fed themselves down the gullet of the Gnarl. Greed begets gluttony, after all.

Gerald had heard of the Gnarl, but he had little experience with forestry. It was for this reason that he had fled his home back then.

No more. If this plan is to work, I must confront my fears.

Gerald’s plan, in truth, was simple. He lacked the political acumen to challenge a foreign Blessed to life-or-death combat and leave their holy grounds unscathed. As such, he could only win in an ambush scenario. I need them isolated and, if possible, unsuspecting.

Where the Peeking Woods grew, guide huts sprung up in their wake as if mushrooms after a storm. If you could live in the area, it stood to reason you could guide rich, terrified men through for an ample sum. And be left alone in the woods with them.

There’s just a single root issue. I’m inexperienced. If I try to learn the lay of the land, I’d probably get killed myself, Blessed or not. Mundane means may only reduce my Holy Power by 1, but the Peeking Woods are not mundane. Plus, Lady Brenda proved that fire can strike a Blessed down. What about poison? What about beasts?

I simply don’t know. How frightening!