Oh yeah. This guy. Lena had gone on about him on the way here while Rob barely reacted beyond the occasional grunt.

  Zukaman, both Priest and High Keeper of the temple, but preferred to be called Priest. He was also a former Paladin who fought in something called the First Orc-Human War, and probably some overachiever with five more official titles throughout his illustrious career. Retired from the battlefield, now he ran things at the temple, handling prayers, blessings, and training new recruits who, apparently, weren’t nearly as good as the old war-hardened veterans. Lena had rambled for a solid five minutes about how “back in the day,” Paladins were stronger, scarier, and significantly less picky about their diet. But she didn’t live through ‘the day’ herself. She just got told from others.

  And now the guy was here, eyes’ sharp as a hawk, standing in front of them. As he loomed in front of the wagon, Blorbo could clearly see the color of his irises: a deep shade of amber golden, darker than those of Rob, but still undeniably golden.

  “I can offer a healing prayer,” Zukaman said, voice steady.

  Rob, who was still trying to suppress his coughing fit, nodded slightly.

  Zukaman lifted his staff, and the crystal glimmered as he murmured something completely intelligible. It wasn’t an overwhelming burst of holy light like Blorbo expected—it was faint, almost like a whisper in the air. A warmth spread through the space, and Rob’s shoulders seemed to relax.

  Blorbo was unimpressed. What kind of bootleg healing spell was that? I expect Rob to be completely rid of illnesses now. He should be running ten laps around the temple as we speak!

  So yeah. That made sense. The strongest warriors of the Lord of Light couldn’t even heal a cough properly.

  Rob cleared his throat, the coughing finally dying down. “Thank you, Priest Zukaman.”

  Zukaman nodded, lowering his staff. “I have sent temple keepers to your farm before, but the spells were ineffective, were they not?”

  Rob hesitated before giving a stiff nod.

  “As expected. Divine blessings for war and battle do not lend themselves well to recovery.” Zukaman turned slightly, glancing at Lena. “I assume you will be departing on your journey soon?”

  Wait. Wait wait. Right. The thing Lena had mentioned earlier. Something about how Paladins had the most ridiculously strong offensive blessings for wartime—divine smites, fire beams, holy swords, and no gimmicky food-related aura. But their healing spells were next to useless. He recalled her words perfectly because she had made the most exaggerated wailing sound after saying it: “Imagine being so close to divine power, but it only works when you’re slashing someone’s face off!”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Lena said. “We wanted to pray today before we left.”

  Zukaman gave a small nod as his grip tightened on his staff. “The Lord of Light always watches over His chosen. The Paladinborn are never forgotten, even when the path before them seems uncertain.”

  Rob went silent. His jaw tensed and his gaze turned downward.

  Oh yeah. My boy was REAL thrilled about that one.

  The good Lord is really watching over my man Robbie by NOT GIVING HIM ANY PALADIN POWER throughout his lifetime and blessing him with a lung fever instead! Truly, the most divine protection I have ever seen! Last I checked, this man was farming potatoes, not smiting enemies with holy vengeance.

  Zukaman studied Rob carefully, as if gauging his silence. Then, with a firm nod, he reached into his robe and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. “I wish you could attend services more often, Robert. I had hoped to give you this under better circumstances, but perhaps now is the time.”

  Rob looked up. “What is it?”

  “A means to protect yourself,” Zukaman said. “One of the first I wielded in battle, long before I took up the robes of a Priest. It is outdated, no longer fit for a Paladin at the peak of their strength—but it should provide some protection for a Paladinborn, even one who cannot call upon aura or blessings.”

  Blorbo internally howled. Protection? You’re giving my man Robbie a RELIC from the Paladin Discount Bin?!

  Lena gasped. “A weapon from the First Human-Orc War? That’s practically a historical artifact!” She patted on Rob’s shoulder. “They didn’t call you the Priest’s favorite for nothing!”

  Zukaman’s grip tightened. “It has been reforged and repurposed many times over. It is no relic of great power, but it still holds traces of the blessings it once carried.”

  Rob hesitated before slowly reaching out to take it. He pulled back the cloth, revealing…

  Blorbo squinted.

  A short sword. It was well-maintained but undeniably old looking at its dull edge. The faintest glow reverberated within the metal like a candle running out of wax.

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  Rob ran a hand over the blade, testing its weight. “Thank you, Priest Zukaman.”

  Zumakan cast his eyes to the faraway horizon. “I still remember our sword training sessions. It pains me that things turned out like this. If only I could find out what was blocking your Blessing Path…”

  “It’s fine, father. You have done more than enough for me.” Rob smiled.

  “I didn’t know… both of you were trained swordsmen.” Lena looked at Rob, then at the priest.

  First time, Lena? I, on the other hand, am a master at overhearing conversations without knowing absolutely anything about the context. No cryptic prophecies and half-told stories can bother me now.

  The priest gave a solemn nod. “May it serve you well. You walk a difficult path, Robert. The Lord may seem distant, but He does not turn His eyes from His own.”

  Yeah, sure. The Lord is watching. From the farthest possible vantage point.

  Rob quickly wrapped the cloth around the sword again, but before he could, a status table showed up.

  [ITEM: Blade of Very Old Convictions]

  Type: One-Handed Sword (Basic)

  Slash Damage: 11

  STR +2

  Passive Effect: Divine Intimidation (3%) — Your presence inspires awe in those around you.

  Durability: 42/60

  A well-worn blade once wielded by a paladin in training. Though outdated, it still carries a faint trace of its former wielder’s conviction.

  Hey! Why didn’t this show up for Lena’s wand? I would’ve loved to see how useless that thing is.

  Zukaman gave Rob a long, measured look. “It is not the blade that makes the warrior, but the heart that wields it.” He exhaled slowly, then straightened. “Now, I must return to my duties. The temple calls, and the faithful require guidance.”

  This man sounds like an NPC…

  The priest turned and strode back toward the temple, his gold-threaded robes catching the light of the Everflame.

  Lena nudged Rob lightly. “Alright, that’s enough divine wisdom for the day. We need to go see the robed mage before it gets too late. If I’m learning magic, I’d rather not do it while half-asleep.”

  Rob shrugged. “How many spells do you think you can learn in one evening?”

  “Hopefully two hundreds.” She chuckled.

  Blorbo, still stewing over the status table, was about to launch into another internal rant about how the system refused to show him Lena’s wand stats—when something else hit him.

  Wait a minute.

  Where’s Ducaz?

  His vision darted left. Then right.

  The con artist was gone.

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