Feeding the Fanatics
Salvation Holy Knights
The upscale restaurant Rain Premium was in chaos. The middle-aged manager, who looked like the head honcho, was at a loss facing this horde of country-bumpkin priests. These were the kind of folks who'd normally get bounced at the door, but thanks to me, they waltzed right in without a hitch.
I let out a deep sigh as I watched the Salvation Holy Knights shoveling food down their gullets like they hadn't eaten in weeks. Here I was, treating these scumbags who deserved a beating to a fancy meal. The sheer absurdity left me speechless.
I jabbed Alon hard in the side while he was mid-bite and crooked my finger at him—a signal to follow me for a sec.
I dragged Alon to a quiet corner and laid into him.
"Alon. What the hell is this? We need to keep a low profile, and you're parading these idiots around?"
Alon shrank back.
"I didn't plan for it to go like this..."
"No plans, huh? Then why'd you throw your hat in for guildmaster?"
"Nah, I didn't really want it..."
"Then what?"
Alon glanced at me nervously, then spilled his excuses in a whiny tone.
"Come on, didn't you tell me to infiltrate and keep tabs on them? Watch for weird moves?"
"Yeah, sure."
"So, gotta butter 'em up with some grub, build rapport, slip cash to the desperate ones to grease the wheels. That's how you get 'em talking, right?"
"Mm. Standard playbook."
"And that's how it snowballed."
I glared at him.
"Hey. Moderation, man."
"I kept it moderate, swear."
"Then?"
"These guys lived like paupers. A little kindness, and they're bawling gratitude. Hand a broke monk some coin, and suddenly you're their lifelong savior. Drove me nuts. Turns out, those monk kids are dirt poor."
Fair enough. Monks had it rough.
Monks spent their lives buried in theology, honing their faith.
Unlike other clergy, they scraped by on pocket change from the church, never escaping poverty.
Most farmed, milked sheep, butchered cows—whatever it took.
"Be straight with me. How much you splash on these clowns?"
"One gold rif, give or take."
One gold rif was decent for common folk. But peanuts compared to my budget.
I raised my voice in disbelief.
"What? And how'd you drag this mob to the Divinum Cathedral?"
"They all dreamed of visiting before kicking the bucket. So I rounded 'em up."
"Besides that. How the hell with one gold rif? Travel costs alone should've bankrupted you."
"Eh, barley bread from the monastery for chow, stars for a roof. Dirty travel clothes? Laundry in the nearest stream. Monsters pop up? They swarm and bash 'em. Chaos Pieces fetch good coin these days. Saved up enough for decent inns on the way."
I rubbed my face. A ragtag beggar brigade threatening humanity? Laughable.
But no slacking. Fanatics flip fast—and scary.
"Fine. What's the vibe on these weirdos?"
"One word: psychos."
My eyes sharpened.
"Any odd behavior?"
"Conspiracy nuts. Yapping about world-ending doom everywhere. Locals ignore 'em completely."
"That's it?"
"Obsessed with the Creation Codex. Pros on the apocalypse chapters—recite 'em like scripture."
"Anything else?"
Alon stroked his chin, thinking.
"Kinda... maybe not..."
"Spit it out, anything."
"They dig some weird legend."
I leaned in close.
"Which one?"
"The Anvil of the Absolute—indestructible thing. Legend says anything placed on it gets wrecked."
My hackles rose. Sounded like my Yojyo—tough as nails.
"Where's it at?"
"Scattered worldwide. Piece in the Divinum Cathedral, apparently."
"Piece?"
"Yeah. Legend: someone smashed the Anvil and hid fragments everywhere."
I rolled my eyes.
"Hold up. Indestructible, right?"
"Yep."
"Smashed?"
"Yep."
"Doesn't add up."
"Legends gonna legend."
"Even legends need logic. What kind of BS is this?"
"Decode the Book of Death in the Codex's back half."
I sighed. Classic conspiracy patchwork. Codex is wordy—twist verses, something pops out.
Couldn't peg this group's deal. Evil future menace, sure—but no connections, antics too random. Frustrating.
"Keep eyes peeled. Report anything off. Got it?"
"Sure, but..."
"What?"
"Why watch these losers? No clue."
I patted his shoulder.
"Don't need to know. Just remember: mission done, riches and rank await. Deal?"
Alon's eyes curved happily.
"Heh, then yeah, no need. Got it. But keep your promise."
"No sweat. Nail it, get more than you dream."
"Roger."
"Back in. Too long looks sus."
I led Alon to the table. A grizzled old monk tearing steak with his hands beamed and scooted over.
"Sir Alon! Where you been?"
"Quick chat with Baekmyeon."
The old monk looked worried.
"Bill short?"
"No way."
Still sheepish, he fished copper coins from his pouch.
"We'll chip in."
I cringed watching. Silver half rif per plate here, coppers? Sweet, but nah.
One silver rif = thousand coppers.
Awkward grin, I nudged Alon.
"Who's that?"
"Alfredo Monk. Guildmaster candidate."
"What? You ran too."
"Yeah."
"Tourism trip, right?"
"Yep."
"Why's gramps tagging?"
Alon waved hands wildly.
"Not your formal outfit. Academic club? Social? Kinda vague."
"Explain."
"Eh... they skip worldly drama."
I scratched my nose, sat. Time to eat.
Rain Premium erupted in uproar. Salvation Holy Knights mobbed the counter.
Bill: one gold rif, six silver. One gold = twenty silver. Copper equivalent: 26,000.
"Innkeep! Scam? Lunch over one gold rif?"
"Yeah, ripping off us provincials."
Manager waved helplessly.
"Real price."
"Thieving bastard!"
Old man swung bag, smacking manager. Hidden food scraps spilled everywhere.
Outside, done paying, I clutched my forehead at the ruckus. Mistake. Why feed psychos here?
"Alon. Fix it."
He shrugged.
"Can't."
"Why?"
"Pride's all they got. Once popped, unstoppable."
I gritted teeth.
"Pride? Why blow now, over the bill?"
"Beats me."
"I'm out. Handle it."
As I turned, Alon grabbed my sleeve.
"Can't ditch. Holy knights and guards incoming."
"You're a knight."
"Country knights? Toothless here."
"Got urgent business. No time."
"Who?"
"Blood tribe girl. Delay, innocents die."
Alon yelled to all.
"Folks! Baekmyeon has urgent business!"
Eyes locked on him.
"Sir Alon, what?"
"Gotta find someone."
They surged out.
"Who?"
"Blood tribe woman. Trouble if not quick."
"Then we hunt! Description?"
Alon eyed me; stares pinned me.
I heel-kicked his shin secretly.
"Nah. I'll solo."
"Spill. Group find faster."
"Tourists. Sightsee."
"Hunt while touring."
Lie easier than refuse. Sigh.
"Fine. Short, fat, ugly Blood woman."
"Face?"
"Butt-ugly."
Nods all around.
"Easy. Rare ugly Blood ladies."
"Yeah."
Alfredo bellowed.
"Scatter and search! Rendezvous at inn, sunset."
They dispersed. Quiet. I eyed Alon slyly.
"You staying?"
"Oh, right."
"Scram."
"Later."
"Next time solo."
"Yep."
Alon gone, I clawed my hair.
How do these hicks morph into apocalypse psychos? Gap too wide.
Then, sharp woman's voice from empty alley.
"Hey, Baekmyeon. That short, fat, ugly Blood woman ain't me, right?"
Familiar. I spun.
"Evelyn?"
She approached, eyes narrowed.
"Who? Really me?"
"Nah. Shooing the pests."
"Sure?"
"Promise. Annoying bunch."
Evelyn eyed the scattering knights meaningfully.
"Yeah, obvious. In every way."
I glanced slyly.
"How'd you know I was here? Stalk?"
"Subordinates at portal towers tipped. Tailed you."
"From when?"
"Arrival. Skipped Cathedral—too secure."
I stared hard.
"Know why I'm here?"
"Assassinations."
"Hmph. Honest, good."
"Can't fool you. You'd sniff our work."
I bit my lip.
"Knew, yet why stir shit?"
"Targets dangerous psychos."
"Chasing you?"
"Partly... too fanatic. Future trouble."
"How bad?"
"Psycho cult. Do anything for faith. Nemisona built 'em."
I narrowed eyes.
"Nemisona?"
"Yep."
I smacked lips. If true, smart move. Nemisona grudge-holder; prune limbs early.
"Good cull."
Evelyn grinned.
"Play dumb?"
"Dumb? Church brass losing it. Grab suspects, execute all."
"For real?"
"Yep."
She shrugged.
"Nemisona'll hush it. Bad for them too."
"Won't this time."
Eyes widened.
"Why?"
"Told 'em Chronos. Still hunting. Warning to sky city."
Impressed.
"Church bold? Usually cowards."
"Heads on blocks. Need scapegoats."
"Who?"
"Suspects."
She glared.
"Fight us?"
"I don't care, but not just you."
She chuckled.
"Beat 'em again? Ouch."
"World's like that. Losers lose. Pull you off hook: two conditions."
"Shoot."
"One: hand over killer new tech."
Odd look.
"Love new toys?"
"Give or nah?"
"Peace easy. No need fight. Got prime one."
"Two: hit list of your targets. Non-aggressors. Dead scapegoats worthless."
She smirked.
"List, church kills 'em?"
"Yep."
"Sweet. Some tough for assassins."
"Who?"
"Purity Knight Order. Elite holy knights. Strong."
"Perfect. Gimme."
"Here."
She pulled list. ~300 names, full bios—too much to scan now.
"Hefty."
"Clumped up. Hard stealth."
Nodded, waved her off. Done; head to Cathedral.
"Cool. Bye."
"Later."
Post-Evelyn, scanned list en route to Cathedral. Needed intel for Izenberg chat.
Nice, easy gig. What the...?
Flipping, froze at name. Hands shook; muttered it.
Simon Jedwin.
Simon Jedwin: tried forcing Sden Fortress gates in apocalypse, captured by me. Salvation Holy Knight.
End of Salvation Holy Knights