44

  A pigeon took flight into the morning sky, its wings cutting through the crisp air, a letter secured to its leg. Below, the Saint’s convoy rested within the confines of a modest inn—fully booked for their exclusive use. They had arrived in this bustling port city only the night before, weary after a long day’s march. Accompanying them were soldiers of the Corsican army, dispatched both as an escort and a token of gratitude for the slaying of a great and terrible beast.

  Despite the tense relations between their two nations, the Corsicans had shown courtesy, perhaps not from goodwill, but from prudence. None among them dared to show hostility towards the convoy, for it was whispered that a Holy Paladin walked among these travelers—Sebastian. To incur the wrath of a Paladin, they believed, was to invite divine punishment. And so, their greatest hope was to see the convoy safely aboard a ship and gone from their land, never to return.

  Throughout the journey, Dalia, Carlos, and Sebastian had spoken little. A quiet tension had settled over the group, an unspoken dissonance that hung in the air since the battle against the Legion. At the heart of this unease lay the relic now in Sebastian’s possession—a cursed object feared by the soldiers who had fought beside them. None wished to be near it, yet abandoning it was unthinkable.

  The plan was clear: they would deliver the relic to Avignon, where the Longinus Order could take custody of it for investigation and safekeeping. But the difficulty did not lie in the plan—it lay in Sebastian himself. He guarded the relic with fierce, almost obsessive vigilance, allowing no one to touch it, not even to look too closely. When Dalia had tried, out of fear for what might happen should the relic remain too long in his grasp, Sebastian had rebuffed her with cold resolve.

  Carlos, in turn, grew more incensed with every passing day. He viewed Sebastian’s obstinance as disrespect, not merely to Dalia, but to the mission itself.

  Now, alone in his room, Sebastian sat with the relic clutched tightly in his hands, his gaze locked upon it, unwilling to blink, unwilling to rest. He had seen what these relics could do—not just to men, but to beasts. He had witnessed the ruination of a city, the birth of something monstrous. If he had not struck down Valentinus when he did, who knows what horror might have been unleashed?

  In truth, Sebastian was afraid—deeply, viscerally afraid. And those around him, he felt, could not understand that fear. He saw, in every glance cast toward the relic, a hidden intention. He trusted no one. The burden of this cursed artifact was his alone, and he would see it handed over to the right hands—even if it meant alienating his companions.

  A knock at the door roused him. At once, he gripped his hammer with his free hand, alert.

  “Saint? Are you awake? I’ve brought breakfast.”

  “Leave it at the door. I’ll take it.”

  “A-Are you certain? It seems very disrespect—”

  “I said, leave it on the ground!”

  “O-of course, forgive me for the intrusion!”

  He exhaled slowly, attempting to calm the tempest within. He had promised himself he would manage his anger, especially after what had occurred in battle. So far, he had only barely succeeded. He stepped to the door and pressed his ear to it. Hearing nothing, he opened it cautiously—only to find Dalia standing there with a gentle smile.

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  “Hello, Sebas—”

  The door shut before she could finish.

  Dalia stood there for a long moment, troubled. A chill still lingered from the fight. Something unholy had manifested that day—an evil presence she could not shake. She doesn’t know if all of that is just her feeling playing tricks on her mind or a genuine signal from god that she needs to act fast. Dalia felt like the Relic held an answer to this problem. Maybe she could try to put a barrier on that relic or even purify it somehow before something bad happens. But Sebastian would not let her near it. Not even to try.

  “That kid bothering you again?” came Carlos’s voice, as he approached.

  Carlos stands in front of the door and slams it a couple of times with his hand while shouting Sebastian's name. Dalia looked puzzled and shocked as to what just happened. Carlos rarely being this brash or even confrontational like this. He usually solves everything diplomatically and insults people using his sharp tongue, but now he seems different as if something changes inside of him. This trip changed a lot of people. Dalia almost can’t comprehend what's happening for these couple days on the road. There’s too much happening and too little time for her to process things.

  She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “Carlos, that’s enough. Please. Don’t escalate this.”

  He turned his eyes on her then—and for the first time, Dalia recoiled. There was something in his gaze that unnerved her. Without a word, he pulled away and walked down the corridor, silent.

  Dalia thought she heard him mutter something beneath his breath, but the words were lost to her. She stood frozen for a moment, helpless, and then turned to Sebastian’s door once more. She longed to do something—to fix the rift growing between them—but the moment was beyond her. With a heavy heart, she retreated to her room, fell onto her bed, and buried her face in a pillow.

  There, in silence, she prayed. Not just for peace—but for the strength to endure whatever came next.

  *

  Far across the land, Constantia and her companions arrived on the outskirts of Avignon under the shroud of dusk. Though they had taken the long road, they arrived ahead of the Saint’s convoy—having pushed themselves beyond exhaustion, compelled by the urgency of their mission.

  It was no ordinary assignment. This directive had come directly from their Grandmaster and bore the weight of sacred importance. Success was non-negotiable. And yet, despite the elite agents she had brought, Constantia knew it was not enough.

  She needed more—more men, more firepower, more certainty. Had she the authority, she would have summoned every Inquisitor captain and their entire squads. But she was a Repentant, a blade tempered by penance. Her hands were tied.

  She still remembers how powerful Ipsilas was, to come out unscathed after battling against Cain shows the extent and magnitude of his power. Now she only brings five people with her on this mission including Marcus, Antonius and two other Repentant. Even if they ambush Ipsilas all together, Constantia couldn’t see a possibility where they come out on top.

  Despite this mission could be completed in two ways, Constantia just knew that this problem won't be solved without a fight. Diplomacy ending is just a pipe dream, Ipsilas is just that powerful enough to deny her Grandmaster hand for cooperation. This is a suicide mission plain and simple.

  “What’s the plan, Constantia?” Marcus asked. “Should we sneak in or go through the front gate?”

  Constantia snaps from her thoughts and begins to assess the situation. Despite fighting a losing battle, she couldn’t just give up right now. Maybe a miracle would befall them on this mission, at least that’s what she’s been hoping for.

  “We go in quietly. The enemy hides, and so must we. No need to invite attention. We do this covertly.”

  Antonius surveyed the perimeter. After a moment, he pointed toward a narrow outlet by the river.

  “There,” he said. “Sewage canal. Guard presence is too heavy to scale the walls. That’s our way in.”

  Marcus groaned. “Why is it always the sewer? I swear, every novel I read has someone sneaking in through a sewer.”

  “You can afford books?” Antonius scoffed, smirking. “Must be nice, aristocrat.”

  “I have hobbies,” Marcus replied. “They just happen to be classy and expensive.”

  “Enough,” Constantia snapped. “We use the canal. Like it or not.”

  Marcus flopped onto the grass, hands folded behind his head. “Then we wait for nightfall. Just a little rest before the stink.”

  “I’ll rest too,” said Antonius, leaning against a tree. “We won’t get another chance once we’re inside.”

  Constantia gestured to the other two Repentants to do the same. For now, there was nothing to be done but wait. Despite her training, the long days of running had left her body aching and her mind clouded. She sat, closing her eyes—though her thoughts remained restless.

  Her mind keeps playing the battle she had with Ipsilas back in the church. His speed and power are unmatched despite being outnumbered. His techniques are horrifyingly lethal and his aura that he emits is a real deal. She couldn’t imagine what kind of training or experience that he needed to go through to get past the Great wall. What a monstrous man, she hoped that she would never meet him again, but fate says otherwise.

  As day transitions into nights and moon shone brightly above Avignon. An eye pierced through the darkness towards the place where Constantia's group rested. Ipsilas smiled as one of the guests he'd been waiting for finally arrived at his doorstep. Now he just needs to wait for the other party to arrive and he has a very good estimate on when they’ll be coming to join the banquet that he prepared. Everything is according to his plan and he’ll make sure there’s not a single hiccup or hurdle in this one. Everything that needs to be done right for this place is the catalyst for a big thing that is planned for the future, and can’t wait for it to happened