Episode 2 - Heroes of the Continent
Snowflake-like petals scattered in the air, truly beautiful. The welcoming crowd packed the pier overflowed beyond my field of vision. Hot cheers and applause rang in my ears. It was a grand welcome ceremony, but fitting for the Hero who would fill the darkest era with light.
Far across the sweltering, humid pier stood the Church officials, arms wide open to greet us. They looked like a gathering of simple folk at first glance, but I could read the swirling desires in their eyes. The sticky air, laced with unidentified emotions, clung to the place. There, the Hero and the cardinal shook hands.
The schedule was tighter than expected. Dinners with high-ranking officials. A brief meeting with the cardinal. Greetings with visiting foreign dignitaries. Treating non-heads of state or senior bureaucrats to this level of hospitality was highly unusual. The Church spared no expense in giving us—the civilian and three soldiers—the grandest welcome they could muster.
The reason for such treatment was the unique nature of the Hero. God's proxy. A hero attested by history. The greatest variable in battlefields and diplomacy. The weight of countless words describing the Hero was anything but light.
Camilla Lowell and I, her companion, entered the Church as honored guests. Pippin, Jake, and I were dazed at first by the heat of the throng, but we quickly adapted to the Church's atmosphere. Our mission was too grave for lingering on impressions. And in this situation, the one who couldn't hide her excitement was none other than the Hero herself, Camilla Lowell.
"Whoa! Fred, this place is amazing!"
She'd looked like she was on the verge of death from seasickness, but a meal had revived her. Camilla Lowell bounced around, her crimson hair flying. Like a first-time tourist abroad, she peered everywhere, showing keen interest in the Church's architecture and daily life.
Far from annoyed, our Church escorts took her reactions positively.
"Hoho! Enjoying yourself, Hero?"
"Yes!"
Even Raphael Cardinal, the head of the reception, was one of those enjoying her response. Though I was tasked with peeling the leeches off the Hero, I couldn't very well tell a cardinal to his face, "Back off from the Hero a bit." Besides, this was Church turf. Cardinals held real power here; I had neither grounds nor means to intervene. Best to chalk it up to charm and let it slide. In this grim world, being too harsh without warmth gets you stabbed.
"Pippin. Keep an eye on the Hero. You know what I mean."
"Understood, Major."
Good. With Pippin glued to the Hero, I could wash my hands of that side. I listened to Jake's brief report.
"Hero's current schedule is city sightseeing. After this, we'll get quarters, rest briefly, then attend the evening banquet. Free until tomorrow morning."
"Got the guest list for the banquet?"
"All Church personnel. Foreign ambassadors start from the next one."
"Right. Tell our embassy to pull IDs on foreigners staying in Church territory and shoot 'em my way."
"Yes, sir."
So much prep. Sometimes I wondered if I was the Hero's companion or her babysitter.
"Still, with a beauty like that, babysitting's gotta be fun, right?"
"Shut it."
"Admit it, Major—you like it."
"Keep yapping, and I'll stuff lead in that mouth."
The blond, tanned punk started slinking around with his nonsense. Hero's schedule noted; time for ours.
"Keeping comms with the embassy, getting constant updates. IDs and locations of foreigners and Kingdom nationals in Church territory are mapped."
"Any deep thinkers here?"
"None. No ideologues. Most would've skipped Church for the Empire or third countries—hard to find here."
Okay. No hostiles from our side in Church turf, then.
"Colonel Clevins mentioned an agent at the embassy. Jake, drop your gear at quarters and link up—get intel."
"Yes, sir."
"Pippin on the Hero full-time looks suspicious. Starting tomorrow, I'll mark her personally. Pippin, intel from quarters. You, meet external contacts."
"Got it. But protocol-wise, shouldn't you handle Foreign Ministry folks and informants? They're higher rank than me."
Jake looked worried, unlike his usual self. Fair point—embassy types were nobles at least, ranks above lieutenant.
"We're special envoys from HQ. Rank doesn't matter. Anyone bitches about it, tell me. I'll smash 'em."
"Whoa, almost fell for you there. Love ya, Major."
"Your bullshit stinks. Check my schedule."
Jake grinned, flipping his notebook. I memorized the hourly rundown while tailing the Hero. Amid calm folks, hyper Camilla Lowell bounced like a rubber ball. Like a dog out after ages cooped up? Bursting with energy, anyway.
Her antics seemed energy-wasting at a glance. A cool cynic might call it pointless, but what could I do? Our worlds were too different. I suspected anyone vaguely familiar on the street. Trash on the ground? Bomb first. Wasn't always like this—life changed me. Or maybe past life too, as a soldier.
Camilla Lowell tilted her head curiously at roadside decorations. So inquisitive. Honestly, I preferred cats to dogs. Bad match? Still, her sweet, innocent vibe didn't repel me. The repulsion was from the black hair right in front of—
"Huh?"
Something burrowed into my chest. Jake's eyes widened beside me. Shocked. My body tipped back. World tilting. Even then, thoughts raced. Intruder shoved something in. Black hair. Red eyes? Distinctive. Small build. Screams erupted around. She was gone already—no sign sweeping the area. Brain spinning, but perp escaped.
Terrorist. Chaos everywhere. Secondary attack possible. Target: Hero or me? Folks screamed in horror. Fallen, I grabbed Jake's collar as he bent to help.
"Black hair! Red eyes! Protect Camilla!"
"Got it!"
Not a full sentence, but the sharp kid got it and bolted to Camilla Lowell. Pippin already shielded her, scanning all sides. Instinctively reached for my hip—empty. Shit. Remembered: disarmed for "protocol," gun buried in luggage. Screams everywhere. I checked abdomen and chest. No wound, no pain. Not an assassination. Relief washing over as I stood—
BOOM!!
A massive explosion right in front of me.
Terror.
The dim hospital room echoed with the announcer's voice. I lounged on the bed, watching the wall screen. This world was weird. No planes, no satellites, yet news broadcasts. Magic made for oddities. Truly unknowable place. Stroking my clean-shaven chin, I heard Pippin's report.
"...As of 21:03. 13 dead, 49 injured. Terror via IED disguised as a small package. No reported casualties among Church staff, Hero, or our team."
She spoke calmly, deliberately. Heard she was nearby during the blast—shaken, but eerily composed otherwise. Her faint smile dissolved my doubt.
"Lost my parents to terror as a kid."
"...Sorry. Should've been more careful."
"No, Major. You okay? Heard you were assaulted."
"Yeah. Thought I'd been stabbed at first—no injuries."
"Strange."
She set down the report, sat in the visitor's chair. News showed survivor interviews and censored info—nutrient-poor stuff.
"Jake alright? Looked spooked."
"Neither of us hurt. But Camilla Lowell and Raphael Cardinal were shaken."
"Bomb right in front—who wouldn't be. Any visitors?"
"Embassy sent folks. Said they're still assessing—no intel yet."
Hmm.
"Church's take?"
"Inquisition calls it a black magic sorcerer, but staff seemed clueless. Media spin."
Makes sense. If they knew already, they'd be the perps. Black magic spin, huh? Colonel said something similar. Time to ping him.
"Intel Agency clueless. Inquisition too. Empire or others?"
"Others sent ambassadors denying involvement—seemed genuine. Issue's the Kien Empire: no official response."
"Don't they handle external ops via Imperial Guard?"
"HQ comms: their embassy ambassador has no directive. But."
"Spit it out."
"Imperial Guard agents started operating in Church territory."
No statement, just spycraft. Suspicious.
"You two stay sharp. Avoid Empire tangles. Keep leeches off the Hero."
"Understood, Major Frederic."
"Oh, found my hit-and-run black hair?"
"Searching, no leads yet."
"Roger. Rest up, Pippin."
She saluted and left. Dim room. Woke to night. Clock read 9:30 p.m.; news parroted fluff. TV—whatever. Killed it, leaned back, eyes closed, sorting intel.
Per Pippin, others suffered too. Raphael Cardinal woke from coma; Camilla Lowell mentally wrecked. Same for Jake and Pippin—her speech stiffened.
"..."
Bomb terror. IED in package. Street blast. Suspect unknown. Targets: Hero or cardinal. Exploded outside blast radius—timer fuse. Perp knew our route and timing precisely. Someone with schedule access. Suspect internal Church over Empire.
Plus pre-blast black-hair assailant on me. Silent Empire. Denials from states. Spies in Church. No more intel.
"...Fuck."
Day one in Church: daytime bomb. No game event like this. At least not then. Raoul Cardinal should've been here, not palace-fucking-around. Lucia solo against schemes. Magic Tower in successor wars. Hero's four companions now five. Bomb terror. Story's derailed—who knows how. Head a mess.
Rummaging luggage for a thread to unravel—
*knock knock*
"...Who is it?"
"It's me... Camilla Lowell."
The Hero had come.