My name is Edgar Bauer. I’m 24, and my employer is half my age. Well, maybe ‘employer’ is too strong a word, but that brat’s going to be calling the shots for today. He’s also got the connections, which surprised me. Were provisional government agents always such busybodies, or is it just that Klein fellow? He said he’d be willing to buy anything we dig up relating to the old government at a premium, and if we prove ourselves trustworthy and efficient there might be permanent employment on the horizon. It’s extremely generous, given our position, and no doubt an incentive to keep us on our best behavior. The lads are a bit uneasy about the whole thing, but they’re grown-ass men. Sucking up to government dogs is nothing new, and if it means we can finally say goodbye to this vagrant lifestyle, I’ll bark or jump or anything else they say.

At least that’s how I felt until approximately three seconds ago.

“Hey, Michael?”

“Yes, Mr. Edgar?”

“I keep telling you, Edgar’s fine. That aside, care to explain what she’s doing here?”

I thought we might bump into the war criminal since we’re working with one of her kids, but I didn’t expect her to show up right on day one. Worse still, she’s not just here to see us off, but looks like she’s going to tag along with us for the day.

“She’s going to tag along with us today.”

I hate it when I’m right.

“This… this wasn’t part of the deal, kid.”

“It’ll be fine. The nun’s useless in many ways, but she’s only here to watch.”

“Shouldn’t she be watching the other kids?”

A desperate call to reason, but as expected, the brat already thought of it.

“We just asked one of the uncles in Broketown to look after them for the day.”

“You sure that’s smart? You never know what some guys are thinking.”

“I will have you know,” the sister suddenly spoke, startling me, “Mr. Mummert is a scholar and a gentleman. Not my first choice, but he would never do anything that would hurt or endanger children.”

I look to Michael, doubt plastered on my face. Is it really okay to leave that responsibility in the hands of someone who has a war criminal’s approval?

“I paid him for his time, he’ll take it seriously.”

No, that wasn’t at all what I was thinking, but whatever. Let’s try another angle.

“She wasn’t part of our deal, kid. If something happens to her, I’m not going to be held responsible for it.”

“Ah, you don’t need to worry about her,” he immediately brushed me off. “The sister’s useless in many ways, but she’s super strong. A building could fall on her and she’d be fine.”

I’m once again astonished by how sharp this little brat’s tongue is. He keeps calling the Supreme Butcher ‘useless in many ways’ like it’s her codename or something.

“I swear, this boy,” she says in a huff. “I don’t know where he gets these ideas.”

So that’s how the Agatha von Kocher reacts to being insulted to her face, huh? Actually, I guess it’s just Agatha Kocher since her noble title was stripped away. Regardless, I still can’t believe she’s actually here. I know she somehow avoided execution at her trial and was sentenced to exile instead, but how is this exile? We’re in the bloody capital, aren’t we? It must be one of her schemes. Something like, anywhere’s fine since the nation she was exiled from doesn’t exist anymore, so let’s just set up shop in an old hideout. I can definitely see that happening. I heard she masterfully skirted around so many international regulations that the post-war courts are still adding clauses to the ‘Agatha Accord.’ That bureaucratic gridlock is probably a part of why this place is such a dump after more than two years. Either that or they’re secretly scared of doing anything in her territory. Maybe both.

“Edgar,” Michael whispers to me, “I know it sucks, but she won’t let me go on my own.”

“… I guess the boys won’t mind so long as she doesn’t meddle too much,” I admit defeat. “Just make sure she gives us a wide berth.”

“A wide what?”

Right, I keep forgetting I’m dealing with a 12-year-old sometimes.

“It means don’t get close.”

“Well, obviously. You’re all still scum.”

This cheeky brat. If he wasn’t so strangely well-connected I’d have… No, let’s not dwell on it.

“So, we gonna wag our chins all day or actually go dig up some goodies?”

With that, we finally depart from our camp on the ruins’ outskirts. Eight of us decided to head out on this maiden voyage while the other nine stayed behind to look after our camp, not to mention Jaeger. He’s still in pretty bad shape after the sister worked him over about a week ago, so I left Jerry with him to make sure he pulls through. I know, seems silly to leave our best medic behind, but Jerry’s an idiot when it comes to anything that isn’t stitching up wounds. Besides, we still have Viktor. He’ll handle anything that isn’t more severe than a broken leg.

First order of business is traversal. We’ve had a few days to prepare after we got the final go-ahead from Michael, and in that time the lads and I cleared a proper path to the inner city ruins. I figured we’d be going back and forth to the same general region a lot, so we might as well make sure we have an easier time of it. What Michael said was an hour-long walk was completed in half the time thanks to our efforts. Let’s not worry about how many man-hours we put into laying down that road, but it feels worth it. Honestly, we’d probably make even better time without that sister. I don’t know what her deal is, but she pretended to get lost three fucking times on a mostly straight path. At least, I hope to Ovha that she’s pretending.

Our first stop of the day is an old police station. It’s in a metropolitan part of the city with lots of apartment buildings that are several stories high. Or rather, were. Not a single structure is intact, but enough of their rubble-filled shells remain standing to make it a hazardous area. Things randomly falling on top of us is going to be a constant worry. Thankfully, we all still had our army helmets, so hopefully they’ll keep our skulls safe from any loose bricks. Gave one to the kid as well, but the sister refused.

“Lady Ovha is the only shield I need.”

I decided not to question her after she said that since that topic was one of the ‘landmines’ I was warned about. I instead focused on the ruined building in front of us. It’s four stories of solid concrete that’s remarkably intact, if severely lopsided. Seems the foundation gave way and the east side sank into an underground cistern, putting what’s left of the structure on a 20 degree tilt. Just in case I ask Mark’s opinion, and he tells me it’s unlikely to collapse anytime soon if it’s still standing after two years of rain and snow. He’s our demolitions expert, so I trust his judgment when it comes to buildings falling over.

First hurdle – getting inside. Michael’s built like a drugged-up monkey and can easily climb through small gaps, but the rest of us are a bunch of bumbling gorillas with sledgehammers, so we make our own way in. We put a few holes in some non-load-bearing walls and wait a few minutes for the dust and rubble to settle before we head inside. Our guide does his job and shows us to the evidence lock-up on the main floor. We don’t have any cutting torches, but we’re a bunch of bumbling gorillas with crowbars, so we’re able to somehow force open all the lockboxes. Most of the ‘evidence’ turned out to be ‘seditious materials,’ which were so worthless we repurposed them as future campfire kindling. We did get lucky with a stash of wedding rings, though. I’m guessing one of the MPs who used to work here really hated couples, so he confiscated a whole bunch of these just to fuck with them. Luxury goods like jewelry don’t fetch as high a price as one might expect since you can’t eat shiny metals and sparkly rocks, but it’s still a promising start.

After that easy bit of looting we get busy clearing the mountain of rubble blocking the stairs to the upper floors. We have to be real gentle-like, lest we cause a localized collapse, so it’s taking a while. The time and effort soon prove worthwhile as those offices are a treasure trove of documents, equipment, and supplies. The highlights of our haul include seven functional flashlights, a mostly intact radio transmitter, fifty meals’ worth of slightly stale rations, four bottles of fancy liquor, twelve firearms, and fourteen copper badges. There’s a lot of other stuff we could take, but Michael knows which of them are too heavy or too big to be worth dragging all the way back to the trading post. How he remembers all that without writing anything down is beyond me, but he wasn’t lying when he said he knew his stuff. Nevertheless, we’re a bunch of bumbling gorillas with a lot of extra hands, so we decide to grab what low-value items we can to make the most out of this first expedition.

The entire time we’re busting our butts off that war criminal ends up getting in our way without actually getting in our way. I haven’t told the other idiots who she really is since it would just stress them out even more, but they’re still on pins and needles around her. Part of it is because of the way she humiliated Jaeger and her connections with that g-man, but the main issue is that smile of hers. It sets off a warning signal in my brain, like I’m looking at something pretending to be human. The lads say they feel it too, so it’s not just me being biased. They can clearly tell the quirky sister act is just that even without knowing she’s actually the Supreme Butcher.

The smile thing probably has something to do with what I can only imagine is a deeply twisted personality lurking underneath the surface. She’s responsible for so much death that we still don’t know exactly how high her body count is, and not all of it is enemy combatants. I still get sick to my stomach when I remember the reports on those ‘peacekeeping operations’ she conducted against the empire’s own people. I get that they weren’t her idea and the orders came down from the few people above her. However, it still takes a real piece of work to wipe out entire villages and neighborhoods just to stamp out a few so-called rebels. With her own hands, no less! You can practically smell the batshit crazy off of someone like that, so it’s no surprise the lads can’t focus on their work whenever she’s around.

I have my own problems to deal with, though. Call it a hunch, but I think she has it out for me. I’ll just be keeping busy only to catch a weird glint out of the corner of my eye. I turn around and find her glaring straight at me from across the hall or room, then she’ll flash me that creepy grin and fuck off to harass someone else. It’s happened six or seven times now, and it always gives me a mini heart attack. I decide this needs to stop before she ends up startling me so bad I drop a chunk of concrete on my foot or something, so I go consult with a specialist.

“She just wants to make sure she remembers your face. She doesn’t mean anything bad by it.”

I nearly added a batch of freshly-shat bricks to the rubble pile when Michael said that. Seems my hunch was right and I’ve definitely been marked, but for what? Disposal? Torture? I was so rattled that even the cheeky little brat noticed.

“Is it the smile? It’s the smile, isn’t it?”

“… Mostly, yeah.”

It’s half-true. I feel like the creepy grin I could probably get used to if I wasn’t cursed with knowledge of her past atrocities.

“I thought so. Even after two years it still makes my skin crawl a bit.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Okay, maybe not.

“She can’t help it, though. The glass eye doesn’t match her normal one at all, and the muscles on her face are all messed up, not just on the scarred side, so when she smiles it looks all crooked and weird. Idiot can’t see it herself though, even in a mirror.”

“If you say so.”

I’ve never heard of an injury like that, but I’m no doctor. I’ll ask Jerry about it later. It’d be nice if that’s all there was to it, but somehow I doubt it.

“Try looking at her scar whenever she makes that face. Trust me, it helps.”

“I’d rather she stop staring at me altogether, to be honest.”

“Then go talk to her so she remembers you faster.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea. I like to keep my blood on the inside, thank you very much.”

“You’ll be fine,” he rolls his eyes. “She’s perfectly harmless so long as you avoid those three landmines I told you about.”

One – avoid acts of violence, though self-defense is fine. Two – do not blaspheme, especially against Ovha. Three – never ask her to do anything, ever. Curiously, I got a similar list of topics to avoid from that Klein fellow just in case we bumped into Sister Agatha again. The first two items were more or less the same as the kid’s, but the last one a ban on any and all discussions regarding the Great War or her involvement in it. That confirmed my hunch that these brats had no idea who they were sharing a roof with. I can’t help but envy their blissful ignorance.

“I suppose I might as well give it a shot. Thanks for the chat, kid.”

“Can I have your stuff if you don’t make it back?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep yapping.”

I flip him off in my head as I go look for that sentient calamity. I try to rethink my approach while I’m at it. Whatever her reasons, the Supreme Butcher is playing the part of an innocent no-name nun. By being wary of her, I’m only identifying myself as a threat to her cover. If she really is committed to the bit, then the smart thing for me to do is to play along. Actually, no, the safest course of action is to get the hell away from her while I still have legs, but I feel like it’s too late to pull out now. The lads are already enamored by the day’s estimated earnings. It’s not an enormous amount when split up between all of us, but if we keep raking it in like this then we’d only need to do this three or four times and we’d be set for the winter. Having that little shit guide us around made a much bigger difference than I ever could’ve thought, enough to almost make me overlook the war crime inventor in our midst.

Almost, but not quite.

“Excuse me, Sister Agatha?”

I found her hovering over Mark’s shoulder while he’s trying to force open a jammed door and call out to her. Poor bastard jumped in place since he hadn’t noticed her at all until then.

“Ah. Hello, Mr. Bauer.”

I try to do what the brat said and focused on that vertical trench-like scar across her left eye. Huh. He wasn’t kidding. This really tones down the uncanny feeling. She doesn’t seem to notice my stare, either. I guess I can chalk that up to her lack of depth perception. Or exceptional acting skills. Also, now that I’m really looking at it, that glass eye is unusually shiny for some reason. Seems to catch and reflect a lot of the ambient light we’re getting. That’s probably the weird glint I kept seeing earlier. I’m starting to make sense of my own feelings so I feel a little relaxed and encouraged.

“Please, just Edgar is fine. Do you mind if we chat for a bit?”

“Of course, so long as you don’t ask me to help.”

“Would that… be an issue?”

“I don’t mind but,” she pouted profusely, “Michael spent all morning lecturing me about how I’d just get in the way. He can be surprisingly mean, don’t you think?”

“Ah, yeah, he definitely has a sharp tongue.”

I nod my head as I beckon her to a nearby window, and I get a grateful look from Mark as she follows me over.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you and that kid meet?”

I don’t mean to pry or anything. I only want to make some small-talk so she’ll get off my case, and this seems like a safe topic. Also, Michael’s basically the only thing we have in common.

“Huh. How did we meet?”

“… Seriously? Wasn’t it just two years ago?”

It’s what he said, right?

“Ahah. My apologies, my child. It’s just that Mr. Klein brought him over one day and that was it. It’s not much of a story and it’s been a while since I thought about those days. Michael was the first child entrusted to my care, you see.”

“I figured. He seems very well put together, so you must’ve done something right.”

“I appreciate your kind words, but I can’t take all the credit. He’s always been a kind and earnest boy,” she merrily tells me with a hand on her cheek. “You know, when he first moved into the church, he immediately started doing all the chores. Cleaning, laundry, weeding – the instant I tried to do anything he’d swoop in and take care of it even though I never said a word. He was such a sweetheart that I instantly took a shine to him. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever let him go if someone wanted to adopt him.”

“You sure we’re talking about the same kid?”

A sweetheart? That brat? No way. I haven’t known the boy for long, but I’ve seen plenty of guys like him. He’s totally the ‘if you want it done right, do it yourself’ type of busybody. If the sister spoke truly, then he did all that because he didn’t trust her with anything and the rest is her own delusion. Indeed, the way he keeps talking about her makes me question which one of them’s the actual caregiver. Y’know, so long as I ignore the whole notorious war criminal part.

“I get what you mean,” her expression turns to worry. “I don’t know why he’s been so rowdy lately. He keeps ignoring what I say and the way he talks to me is a bit hurtful. I tell myself he doesn’t truly mean the things he says, but sometimes I wonder if that’s true.”

I can confidently state that Michael genuinely believes it when he calls her useless in many ways, but let’s not go off script.

“It’s probably just his rebellious phase.”

“Rebellious, you say?”

Her glare sharpened. Uh-oh. Did I accidentally run into a hidden landmine?

“I’ve never heard of something like that. Is it serious?”

So is that face concern or suspicion? Let’s assume the first, for my sake.

“Ah. Hmm. I don’t think you need to worry about it. It’s actually pretty common for boys his age. He’s just, y’know, figuring out his place in the world. He’ll settle down eventually. Went through something similar myself.”

“I see, I see. So Michael is simply growing up. I’m glad it’s just a phase, but is there anything I can do for him?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not exactly an expert on parenting.”

In fact, I don’t even know what the hell that ‘rebellious phase’ crap actually is. I just remember hearing about it when I was a little shit myself, and only brought it up because I assumed the head of an orphanage would know about it. I didn’t expect to be questioned about it and I ended up pulling some plausible nonsense out of my ass. Let’s try to change the subject before she keeps asking me about it.

“Maybe you should buy a book about it from the trader with today’s proceeds. I’m sure you’ll have plenty. Your boy may be a bit rude, but he’ll make all of us rich at this rate.”

“I wonder if that’s actually a good thing.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Ovha tells us to seek a balanced lifestyle befitting our station, and warns against thirsting for luxuries beyond our means or indulging in thoughtless charity to those beneath us. I know Michael’s heart is in the right place, but this fixation on material wealth could lead him down a path of corruption.”

“Again, I don’t think I’m in any position to talk about that.”

“I know that, my child,” she put on that weird smile again. “I was not seeking counsel, merely voicing my concerns. It’s just nice to have someone listen to my worries.”

“I get that. You have a lot of those? Worries, I mean?”

“Of course. I love the children dearly, but I’ve never had any in my care before Michael, so I constantly fret and fuss over them. To be honest, I’d be utterly lost without the boy. Having him around makes me feel truly blessed.”

She looks out the window at the sun peeking through the clouds, and I end up following her gaze. Blessed, she says. Translated from priest-speech, she probably means lucky. Makes me wonder if that kid really is here by coincidence. If I ignore the war criminal aspect, it feels like a lot of what we’ve stumbled into around here revolves around him. I mean, even us de-facto deserters got pulled into this madness because of that brat. We definitely shouldn’t get more involved than this. Once we have enough money saved up to make it through winter, we should get the hell out of Khradstgraad. It’s not like we can pick over the ruins when they’re buried in snow and ice anyway, and any permanent employment that g-man offers us is going to surely involve the nun and the boy.

“C’mon, ya fucken latch! Listen to papa!”

As I ponder things while staring out the window with the war criminal beside me, I overhear Mark grunt and curse with effort from behind. It occurs to me this is probably enough socializing and I should go lend him a hand. I turn around just as that stubborn door finally gives way with a snap and swings outward so hard that it knocks Mark over and slams into the wall. A sudden draft floods in through the vacated doorway and rushes past me on its way out of the window.

“Eek!”

I hear the sister squeal and look over to see her leaning dangerously over the edge. The strong breeze had blown off her headdress and she was trying to grab it before it disappeared into the street below. My body reacts before my brain and I reach out to grab her before she falls out of the third-story window. My hands don’t reach her before her knee hits the windowsill. The short section of wall explodes outward, taking part of the floor with it. I feel my torso lurch sideways as I lose my footing and fall alongside the sister. My brain can’t keep up with the sudden development, but my training kicks in and my body relaxes itself in anticipation of a hard impact.

I hear a dreadfully loud crunch under me, yet I don’t feel it. I now find myself laying on my back on top of an abandoned car, its roof crumpled under my weight. I think. I mean, I feel the cold metal through the jacket of my old uniform, but why doesn’t it hurt? If anything, it’s kind of comfortable, like I’m laying in a bed specifically made for me. I shift around a bit and it seems I’m somehow perfectly fine. I look up at the freshly-made hole in the third floor. It’s still crumbling, and I find both Mark and Michael looking down at me with a mix of shock and concern. I lift my head up and glance down at the weird weight pressing against my chest. It’s a head of ashen-gray hair that suddenly jerks up with a face full of dust and worry.

“My goodness! Are you alright, my child?!”

I really wish she’d cut that out. I don’t care if she’s technically older and its a common thing for nuns and priests to say. It still feels demeaning when such a tiny woman calls me that. For now, I contain my grumbles and respond to the important part.

“I’m fine, somehow.”

She gets off me as I sit up. Seems as if she only partially landed on top of me, though I didn’t feel that either. She looks rather confused as well, slowly turning in place as if looking for something. Physically she’s completely uninjured aside from a tiny bit of blood leaking out from around her glass eye, which she absentmindedly wipes away with her thumb. No more comes out after that.

“You useless klutz!” Michael yells from upstairs. “I told you this would happen! You better hope Edgar didn’t break anything important!”

“Calm down, kid!” I call out to him. “I’m just a bit spooked, but that’s it!”

“Who cares about that?! What about the radio in your pack?!”

I squint up at him. I don’t like his attitude one bit. Incidentally, Sister Agatha is lost in her own little world and doesn’t react at all.

“The hell did you just say, you little shit?!” I snap back. “Are you saying some junk’s more important than I am?!”

“Ah… No, that’s not…”

“Hahaha!”

Mark roars with laughter as he roughly tussles the guilty-faced brat’s hair.

“Well, looks like Edgar’s fat arse saved him once again, so let’s leave it at that. C’mon, kid. Let’s go tell the others it’s all good before they start shooting up the place.”

“Wha? Shooting?!”

“How else are they gonna react to this racket? Sing a song?”

He drags a shocked Michael off while feeding him one of our old in-jokes. Meanwhile, I can’t help but groan and rub the back of my head in frustration. Seriously, what the fuck just happened? Did the wall seriously give out from that innocent little knee-bump? Also, I should be hurting all over from a fall like that even if I didn’t break anything. I’ll ask Viktor to check my back and head when I see him, and maybe Jerry can give me a once over later. For now I look to the cause of this mess. She is still scanning the ruined street, and I’m pretty sure I know what she’s searching for. I’m a full head taller than her and I can just barely see it myself.

“Your hat’s behind that fence over there.”

“Ah! So it is! Many thanks, my child!”

She stops glancing around like a confused chicken and merrily skips over to where her headdress landed. As she picks it up and brushes it off, I can’t help but notice that her crooked smile doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it did. Pretty sure I know why. When she was reaching out for that stupid hat just before she tripped – for lack of a better word – she had this really bizarre look on her face. I’m a bit worried about how clearly it was seared into my brain even though I only caught a glimpse of it, but it’s no wonder that I reached out to her without thinking.

“Thank goodness my habit didn’t fly off. I don’t have a spare so I panicked a bit, but it all worked out fine.”

At that moment, she wasn’t some ruthless criminal playing her part in some strange conspiracy, but an unthinking moron so overwhelmed by the thought of losing a shabby piece of cloth that she practically hurled herself out of a window. I don’t care how much of a genius schemer she’s supposed to be, nobody can fake a reaction that genuine in such a split-second accident.

“Hmm? That’s odd. Why did it get so cold all of a sudden?”

It’s strange. She still terrifies me, and I really don’t want to even look at her if I can help it.

“Sister.”

But at the same time, I feel strangely drawn in.

“Yes, my child?”

No wonder that little twerp turned out like he did after two years of this.

“Your skirt’s ripped.”

“Huh? Ah. AAAAAAH! NOOOO! DON’T LOOK AT MEEEEE!”

Sister Agatha is a disaster in many ways, but she’d be much worse if she was left alone.