A few hours later, Buer tilted his head back to see that the debris had shifted as someone removed it—several people by the sounds of it. Three heavily armored people stepped through the passage they’d tunneled.
“Inquisitor Buer?” The only female among them asked. Even armored, her shape couldn’t be disguised. “What happened to you?”
“Not sure how, but there are trespassers here. Paladin Emma, please heal me.”
She nodded and removed her gauntlet to reveal the pale, soft skin underneath. Skin-to-skin contact was necessary for the Absence of Injury, a skill only the most devout could learn. Her palm rested on his forehead, and her eyes emitted a cold, desolate light. That glow infused her entire body until her hand released the contained prayer into Buer’s forehead.
The tattoo’s on Buer’s body glowed with the divine energy, which was too bright in this place and forced him to look away. The pain was enough that even he found it unbearable, so he withdrew into himself and prayed to Ginnungagap.
Bones snapped into place and began knitting themselves together—an ordinary person would have already broken. Buer didn’t make a peep, even if he was cheating by disconnecting his consciousness from his own body.
Internal injuries weren’t as easily solved because of their nature. Not even the Absence of Injury could expunge that damage. The prayer had enough momentum to seal wounds and prevent more complications later but not enough to bring him back to full health.
“All done,” Paladin Emma said while putting her gauntlet back on. “You might have to resort to using our ceremonial armor—unless you have another set? I’m pretty sure these pieces are ruined. The guy you fought must have been very strong.”
“I don’t have replacements. It was the first time I lost,” Buer said softly, and only she could hear his comment. “It’s fine. Do any of you have a weapon I can use?”
One man handed over a war hammer with a two-meter shaft.
“What the hell is this?” Buer asked. His weapon was more like a maul, with a double-sided hammerhead, and the striking part on both sides was roughly the size of his fist. This thing had a spike on one side, and the hammer head on the other was half the size of his fist.
“The simple name is a foot soldier’s war hammer.”
“The complex name?”
“Uh, it doesn’t have one…?”
Emma chuckled and shook her head. “It is called Harlot because one day after training, he returned to his room early, and a priestess who has a thing for him rode that spike while moaning his name. She was howling so loud that it attracted others. To make it worse, that hammer took her virginity, and he shouted, ‘Harlot.’ Everyone thought it was the name of the weapon, so it stuck.”
The paladin looked down in shame, but Buer only chuckled. It was the second time he’d heard a weapon name in the last few hours that shocked him into laughing. However, hearing the story, he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch the weapon.
Sighing, Buer grabbed the war hammer. Afterward, he stripped out of the broken armor pieces and examined the remaining ones. That big giant named Hal was a demon, and he shuddered every time he thought about that fight.
“Sir, what happened?”
“A tough opponent,” Buer explained and told them the short version of the events that led to him laying on the ground broken.
“Hal, a subordinate of another guy, defeated you? Is the other guy even tougher?”
“I’m not sure,” Buer said. “The big guy was kind of slow but extremely loyal to this ‘brother.’ They had no blood relation, but those two are formidable. There were others, but they escaped even with this place locked down.”
“Sounds like he is?”
“Tougher? I don’t think so. That giant’s physical strength was beyond natural, so I doubt the other one had that. However, I’m more scared of the one called Hank (Crow) because of his cunning mind.”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Are we going after them?” Emma asked.
“We don’t have to. The fools are headed in the same direction as our pilgrimage,” Buer chuckled while digging into the debris until he found his helmet. It was scratched and banged up but wasn’t dented or ruined.
His vambraces and greaves were ruined, but his helmet, pauldrons, breastplate, rerebrace, gauntlets, cuisses, poleyns, and sabatons were all still usable. The breastplate had a large dent and was damaged. While uncomfortable, it was still serviceable. However, he removed the sabatons, cuisses, and poleyns and replaced them with leather boots and pants. It was because they were useless without the greaves. They’d move around too much and posed more risk than not. For a similar reason, he got rid of the gauntlets. However, he continued to wear the rerebrace because it was attached to the pauldrons.
“That’s a strangely good look,” Emma said, admiring Buer’s new outfit. The black leather used to make the ceremonial armor was thick and durable. Since the armor had a matte finish, the two looked similar enough that they didn’t clash. If it were her, she’d replace all the heavy armor pieces and not bother with the mishmash process Buer was going through. She understood it, even if she wouldn’t have done it. They grew up wearing heavy armor, and every one of them felt naked without it.
Oddly, if it weren’t for Archbishop Sigismund, the leather armor wouldn’t even exist. He was adamant the order create a ceremonial armor that was quiet and didn’t interrupt proceedings with all the metal clanging.
Buer nodded silently before straitening up and gripping his borrowed weapon. He went through a few forms and practiced, getting used to the weapon’s weight and seeing how injured his body was. That giant toyed with him, but he didn’t seriously harm him other than breaking his limbs.
“Let’s go.”
The small party walked down the hall, following the footsteps of Crow and Otto. There was only one way to go, and the distance wasn’t short. They gave Buer and the others this information before arriving at this place.
A pilgrimage wasn’t unusual for their order, but this was the first time he’d been in an underground location. He still didn’t understand how those outsiders got into this place—he wasn’t even sure where this was. Like the other paladins, he warped into the circular chamber on the other end and began marching this way immediately.
“Do any of you know what this is about?” Buer finally asked.
“You know we aren’t supposed to ask questions,” Emma replied while looking at the other two warily. As a faith-locked organization, they were trained never to ask questions. She never understood why but obeyed because the Clergy rewarded obedience.
Two years ago, her friend Sarah was taken away for training when she questioned a bishop. The man wanted to do inappropriate things to her, and she refused. Ever since then, Emma’s faith was shaken. The Clergy tried to get her alone multiple times, but she cited the rules to escape it. She made it a point to use all the propaganda they were given. Made sure she was irreproachable if they questioned her.
It was because of those situations that she also felt at a loss. Disenchanted with the way things were. She remained loyal to the other paladins and fellow warriors who were like her—programmed to obey. Emma even learned to subtly provoke the others into questioning why they were doing the things they were doing. It was always related to tasks that were morally reprehensible or flat-out evil. Buer was one of her targets. Not long ago, the Clergy ordered him to purge a village, which also required him to kill children, leaving him shaken and vulnerable to suggestion. No one else noticed, but she did and pushed him a little. It made him think about what they were doing and why, but he was steadfast and recovered from his moral dilemma faster than she liked.
Earlier, when she found him beaten and broken, she realized another opportunity had arisen—one in which she didn’t have to do anything except heal him. They were part of the Minnustern, but that didn’t mean they were neglectful of karma. It was tangible enough that they knew it was real. It was why the order balanced their evil deeds with a plethora of good.
“Don’t worry, I’m just playing with you,” Emma chuckled. “We obviously can’t do what we need to do without asking questions. As they said in our tactics class—”
“The strength of our arms does not determine success, but by the intelligence we’ve gathered,” the paladin at the rear said. Emma didn’t even know the guy’s name because he rarely spoke. It was surprising he spoke up now.
“Yes. That.”
“I heard it’s related to Saint Aesculapius,” the man said, and this time everyone turned to look at him.
“Who are you?” Buer asked.
“Sir, I am Paladin Wagner. I’ve only been a paladin for a few months, so you wouldn’t have heard of me.”
“Wagner… Can’t say it rings a bell, but tell me, how did a newbie like you hear about the Saint?”
“I don’t know anything about the Saint, but I overheard the Archbishop talking to Cardinal Maudie—it was an accident. I didn’t eavesdrop on purpose.”
Buer stared at the man with narrowed eyes, feeling something amiss. After several breaths’ worth of time, he turned to the other paladin he didn’t recognize. “You are?”
“Paladin Rainer.”
Buer’s eyes traveled across the three people before him. Only Emma was a known factor, but that didn’t mean he trusted her. He’d been in the tower long enough to sharpen his danger sense, and it had been tingling ever since he came to this place. Those two he fought earlier gave him a sense of danger, but he could also tell they only intended to do him harm because he initiated the conflict.
“Cardinal Maudie was talking to which archbishop?”
“I do not know, sir,” Wagner said. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Cardinal Maudie died two years ago,” Emma replied instead.