This Is How You Build Trust

A few days later, in the east of the Empire, we arrived at Luvern Cathedral.

They called us to the archbishop's office the moment we set foot inside. The audience came sooner than I had expected. We had not even unpacked, and a summons before the bags were open was rarely how anyone greeted a guest they were glad to see.

Beyond a broad desk, Archbishop Gregory turned through the dispatch papers sent from the Center, one sheet at a time. His hand stopped where my name was written.

His gaze traveled the seven-branched crest on my shoulder, paused once on the long gun slung across my back, and climbed to my face.

"...Tsk."

The click of his tongue was perfectly clear.

"And what, exactly, does the Center take the East for?"

Not a promising first impression.

The archbishop tapped the papers with one finger.

"They send word of the Holy 7th Special Task Force, and I expected at least a proper battle-priest."

"Strictly speaking, I am a battle-priest."

"So the paperwork says. I am aware."

"Your age?"

"Fifteen."

"There it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is."

He clicked his tongue again. Valen, standing at my side, said nothing.

I thought of the secret order folded against my chest.

They had not sent me to pick a fight on the first day. I kept my mouth politely shut.

The archbishop spoke.

"One thing I mean to confirm."

"Please."

"According to this, you answer directly to the Saintess of Revelation."

"That is correct."

"Then why is someone of that station in my diocese?"

A political question. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But—

"How should I know?"

"...What?"

"I am a mere combat nun."

As if I could see into Elena's head.

"I was never told what the Saintess had in mind when she sent me east."

Strictly speaking, it was not even a lie.

The archbishop studied me for a long moment.

"Then I will change the question."

The papers landed on the desk.

"While you are in the East, whose orders do you intend to follow?"

That, I could answer.

"The Saintess said this."

I chose the words with care.

"So long as it does not run counter to the will of the Church, I am to cooperate to the fullest with the instructions and discipline of the local diocese."

His brow moved, very slightly.

"To the fullest?"

"Exactly as I said it."

"And if my orders collide with the Saintess's?"

"I will think about it when it happens."

"..."

I had no intention of promising away things that had not yet happened.

He stared at me a while longer, then let out a short, thin laugh.

"At least you do not lie and swear you will obey in everything."

"I don't make promises I can't keep."

"Good."

His eyes shifted, this time, to Valen.

"And you?"

"Valen."

"Your duty?"

"I am her aide."

I glanced at him sidelong. The word watcher never left his mouth.

The archbishop did not press. Instead he called the middle-aged priest standing nearby.

"Coleman."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"These two are yours."

"Understood."

The archbishop rose. Before he went out, he looked back at me once more.

"Whatever the Center expected when it sent you."

His voice was low.

"In the East, you will fit the East's way of doing things."

I bowed my head.

"A most proper instruction."

Another click of the tongue followed me out.

"There will be no special treatment."

Coleman said it the moment the archbishop was gone.

"I wasn't hoping for any."

"Day to day, you will live as the other nuns do. Services, sorting documents, managing the rations. If something particular arises, I will send for you."

"Understood."

He looked at me as if I had surprised him.

"You are all right with that?"

What was the problem? Cleaning. Papers. Teaching children. Sorting rations. Set beside the all-nighters I used to pull in my previous life, this was practically a leave of absence.

I folded my hands neatly and offered the most devout smile I could manage.

"Is this not also the will of the Lord?"

"Oh...!"

Coleman's face brightened at once.

"Just as one would expect of someone taught by the Saintess herself."

I looked aside and found Valen watching me with a peculiar expression. What. This was what they called life in an organization.

Several days passed in that fashion. Mornings were for worship, afternoons for sorting documents or checking the rations, and now and then I read aloud to the children. None of it was difficult. Faith and competence at a job are separate matters.

The air inside the cathedral, though, had grown strangely busy. Footsteps in the corridors came a little quicker, and so did the words the priests traded as they passed.

That day I was matching goods newly come into the storehouse against the ledger. Flour. Dried beans. Salt. Candles. Two crates of candles short. I was about to turn the page back when a door slammed open somewhere down the hall.

"Your Excellency!"

An urgent voice rang along the corridor.

"An emergency report from the border fortress!"

I looked up from the ledger.

A moment later a courier caked in road dust came in with Coleman. Coleman broke the seal and read. Line by line, his face hardened.

"What is it?"

Without a word, he held the letter out.

A fortress on the eastern border. For some time now, soldiers had been vanishing one by one. At first they had called it desertion. But—

"They've found the bodies."

"Yes."

"Almost no blood left in them."

"Yes."

I read the next line.

"How many?"

"Eleven missing, so far," Coleman answered. "Three of them came back as corpses."

More than I had expected.

"And other reinforcements?"

"Incidents are stacking up all along the border."

A short answer. I looked at him. Not the holy knights. Not the inquisitors already in place. The Holy 7th Special Task Force, arrived in the East only a few days ago — and they were handing this straight to me.

A test. They meant to see whether the child-nun sent down from the Center was actually of any use. The archbishop's face rose in my mind. The timing could not have been better.

"Shall I go?"

Coleman nodded.

"Can you?"

I folded the letter.

"I'll have to be able to."

I stood.

"Valen."

He pushed himself off the wall.

"Get ready."

He regarded me with a calm face.

"We've barely arrived, and already they're moving us. Faster than I thought."

"A fine chance to improve a first impression."

"..."

Of course, I had no intention of adding that the impression I meant to improve was the archbishop's.

We set out for the border that same day. The work was simple. Find the missing soldiers, and if there was a vampire, catch it. That was all.

Hoofbeats carried us for a while. Valen watched the road ahead.

"Have you ever fought a vampire yourself?"

"No."

"And yet you seem remarkably at ease."

"What do you think I spent eight years training to hunt?"

"Training and the real thing are different."

"I know."

I tapped the long gun on my back.

"That's why we're going to confirm it."

Then a gunshot cracked, far off. One report. Metal followed it, and shouting.

"Hold them!"

"Fall back!"

Valen and I hauled on the reins at the same time.

A little off the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠road, several wagons lay overturned, and dozens of figures had closed around them. The wind brought the stink first — blood, gone rotten. People. No. Things that had been people. Skin rotted through, and bodies that kept moving with spears still buried in their guts.

"Undead," Valen muttered.

A merchant caravan had been hit. The guards were holding with the wagons at their backs, but they would not last.

Valen looked at me.

"Our mission is the border fortress. What do you want to do?"

He was right. We were under no obligation to step in. And yet those wagons were headed toward the border as well. The survivors might have local information. If it went well, I could put someone in my debt — and take the measure of Valen's skill while I was at it. The calculation did not take long.

"We help them."

"Unexpected. I thought the mission came first."

I turned my horse, and said it very devoutly.

"How could a servant of the Lord turn her face from people in distress?"

Valen's eyes narrowed.

"...Do you mean that?"

"Let's go."

I did not answer him. We drove the horses in toward the caravan.

The fight was already coming apart. Zombies trampled the fallen guards and pressed in over them. I jumped from the saddle, drew the long gun, and set the stock to my shoulder. One round was already loaded. All that remained was to make it count.

I steadied my breath and spoke.

With the prayer, golden holy script rose in the empty air. Familiar sigils locked together and gathered swiftly around the long gun. Gold wrapped the barrel, and a blue radiance of authority layered over it.

The zombies were bunching into one mass. I set the muzzle on the center of them and, in my head, drew the result I wanted. Go through. And then — burst in the middle.

"Gyaaah!"

A guard went down, seized by a zombie, and a corpse threw itself on top of him. There was no time to shift the muzzle. There was no need.

I pulled the trigger on the last word. The head of the zombie lunging at the guard burst apart. The bullet did not stop. It punched through the one behind and drove straight into the heart of the pack.

Holy power detonated. The rotten bodies packed around the blast were flung in every direction, and black smoke climbed. Every eye in the caravan turned our way.

I watched the smoke curling off the muzzle. The effect was certain. The problem was that I had fired once, and they were not going to wait while I reloaded.

"Grraaaah!"

Zombies that had escaped the blast came charging. I reached for the powder flask and stopped. There was no reason to insist on the gun just now. I hadn't been taught only how to shoot.

I slung the long gun. A sword one of the guards had dropped had rolled to my feet. I picked it up, tested the weight once, and sheared the neck off the zombie that rushed me. The head rolled across the ground. A second reached with both arms. I twisted clear, stepped in, and took that neck as well. Not the finest sword. It was enough.

Another came at my back, and a gold arc of sword-light sheared past my side. A zombie's head flew.

Valen.

"Left."

One word. I only nodded.

"That side is yours."

There was no waste in the way he moved. He did not swing wide, and he did not move more than the cut required. One step. One stroke. Only the neck, only the joint, and precisely. A corpse brushed by holy power did not rise again. Skilled. No question about that.

I drove into the other side. The sword was not my most familiar weapon, but eight years is eight years, and these things were not using swordsmanship. Dodge. Cut. If they grabbed, take the wrist. When the balance broke, the neck. I kicked one corpse clear, and Valen came through the gap in the same breath, his blade taking what I had opened.

"Behind you."

This time I was the one who said it. He turned at once. I passed his side and cut the neck of the zombie charging in. The head thudded and rolled.

"You use a sword, too."

"I didn't spend eight years playing."

It did not take long. The last zombie fell under Valen's blade and hit the ground in a heap. The place went quiet. Blood, powder, and the stink of rotten corpses tangled together in the air.

I looked down at the sword in my hand. Not training. The first time I had cut a real enemy. I had fired the gun, too, and my hands were not shaking. Not bad.

Then the long gun on my back nagged at me. I checked inside the barrel. Scorched black metal, and a hairline crack running along it. Same as ever, this one. Reinforcing it with prayer did not erase the strain the gun itself had to bear.

That was when I felt Valen's gaze. Not on me. On the long gun across my back — more precisely, on the faint gold and blue afterglow still clinging around the muzzle. Then on me. In that order. It was not a look of admiration.

Still watching, then. Fighting beside him had not changed what the man was for.

A moment later he shook the blood from his sword as if nothing had happened.

"W-we're alive!"

A middle-aged man came running out from among the caravan. He bowed so deeply he nearly went to his knees in front of us.

"Thank you. Truly. Lord Lumiel has not abandoned us!"

God again. I was the one who had turned the horse. I was the one who had fired. God certainly had it easy. I smiled anyway.

"See to the wounded first."

"Ah — yes! Of course!"

Putting the caravan back together took a little time. A few panicked horses had bolted, and one wagon had a shattered wheel and could not move. Usable cargo went onto the wagons that remained, and the wounded were loaded into whatever space was left.

When they were nearly ready to move again, the middle-aged man sought me out.

"I was late with my introduction."

He bowed properly.

"My name is Jorgen. I deal in arms."

"Altiera Kreuz."

"Sister Altiera."

His eyes went to the crest on my habit.

"You've come from another region?"

"For the present, I am staying at Luvern Cathedral."

"Ah."

Not a bad reaction. I looked at the crates that had been shifted onto the remaining wagons. Weapons. Arrows. Iron fittings for mending armor.

"Where are you bound?"

"The border fortress. We were on our way to deliver goods they had requested."

The border fortress. The same destination as ours. Convenient. I nodded as if it meant nothing in particular.

"I see."

"Yes. Which is why I ask..."

Jorgen glanced over what remained of his escort, and over the wounded.

"If it would not be an imposition, might you travel with us as far as the fortress?"

Less than half a day remained. Even if we slowed to the caravan's pace, we would arrive before sunset. For an urgent mission, a loss of that size was acceptable. It was the request I had expected, and I did not answer at once.

"As far as the border fortress."

"Yes."

He hurried to add the rest.

"Of course I don't mean to ask it for nothing. I will see you properly compensated."

I put on a troubled face.

"That is a little difficult."

"If the sum is insufficient—"

"No. That isn't the issue."

I shook my head.

"We are traveling in that direction ourselves, but..."

I let the sentence trail on purpose.

"There is a place we need to check first."

There was not.

Jorgen's face tightened a little.

"Ah..."

"If we move with the caravan, I would have to put that errand off."

I let out a small sigh.

"And it is a matter the Saintess entrusted to me herself."

Jorgen rubbed his hands, awkward.

"Then it really is too difficult?"

"Well."

I made a show of considering it.

"If I were moving alone, I might be able to accommodate you. But..."

I glanced down at the habit.

"I also can't accept private payment for delaying work the Saintess gave me."

And then, as if that settled it:

"I am clergy, after all."

I closed my mouth. That was enough. He was a merchant. He would not be dull enough to miss it.

Jorgen thought for a moment, and his eyes went wide.

"Ah!"

There it was.

"Then, rather than a private reward, what if I made a donation to the Church?"

"A donation?"

"Yes."

He nodded quickly.

"If giving money to Sister Altiera would put you in a difficult position, I will make a formal donation to Luvern Cathedral."

I pretended to think.

"To the cathedral..."

"You would be setting aside the Saintess's own business for our convenience. Surely that much gratitude is only proper?"

Done. I gave a small nod.

"If it is that much, I won't be put in an awkward position."

"Then you'll travel with us?"

"Yes."

I smiled as if I had been worn down into it.

"And it would weigh on me to leave people in distress behind."

"Thank you!"

Jorgen's face lit up.

"The moment I return to Luvern, I will offer the cathedral a proper word of thanks."

"You really needn't go that far."

"I must."

He shook his head, firm about it.

"I should tell them everything that happened today. And by whose grace we came back alive."

Better than I had hoped. I kept my face as blank as I could manage.

"You needn't go so far as to mention my name."

"I could hardly do otherwise."

Jorgen smiled.

"What sort of thanks is it, to receive a kindness and never say who gave it?"

"If you insist."

I bowed my head as if reluctantly.

"I won't stop you."

The thing had come out very neatly. The caravan started moving again, and Valen brought his horse alongside mine. For a while he said nothing. Then:

"Was there a place you needed to check first?"

"No."

"..."

He looked at me.

"Why?"

"Just now you told the merchant there was."

"I did."

"So it was a lie."

"A lie?"

I looked ahead, unruffled.

"A plan can change with the circumstances."

"How does a plan change when it never existed to begin with?"

Annoyingly sharp. He asked again.

"Were you aiming at a donation to the cathedral as well?"

"Did I tell him to donate?"

"You didn't."

"And I never asked for money."

"And yet the merchant decided, on his own, to donate."

"That was Master Jorgen's judgment."

"You arranged for him to reach it."

I turned and looked at Valen.

"You do insist on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reading people uncharitably."

"..."

"I saved believers who were in distress."

One finger.

"A merchant asked a favor, and I agreed to accommodate him."

Two.

"And he volunteered, of his own accord, to donate to the Church. That is all."

Three.

"So where, exactly, is the problem?"

Valen looked at me for a long time.

"There's something of the Saintess in you."

My expression hardened at once.

"Don't say unpleasant things."

"It wasn't praise."

"That makes it worse."

He turned his head. I clicked my tongue, quietly. Even so, the result was not bad.

Far better than pocketing a few gold coins. Do something useful for the East, and see that the fact of it reached the archbishop's ear. I did not need to boast of it myself. That was enough.

By the time the sun leaned west, a wall showed in the distance. A border fortress, raised on open ground. High on a watchtower a flag snapped hard in the wind, and armed soldiers stood thick along the battlements, watching the land outside. Some carried bows. Some carried long guns. Even from far off, the vigilance was drawn tight.

Jorgen let out a breath of relief.

"We've arrived at last."

I did not answer. In there, eleven soldiers had vanished. Three of them had come back as corpses drained of every drop of blood. The zombies on the road were finished, and I had one small result to show the archbishop. But the real reason we had come this far had not even begun.

I settled the long gun across my back.

"Let's go."

With a heavy groan of iron, the gate of the border fortress was slowly opening.