Sizwe, The Faithful

The Village Chief was nervous. Meeting a Priest of Aegis was both an honor and a headache. Valo was honestly annoyed. Right after the beast attack, agents of Freehold had arrived, stirring things up in search of the Brown-Eyed Demon. No one knew where he could be. The road he took led to many villages and cities, making it impossible to track him down. No matter how hard Freehold and the Citadel investigated, they couldn't catch his trail.

Now, the Citadel had sent a Priest of Aegis and a Guardian Commander. It was a nightmare. He had to bow to these people and lick their boots. He began to hate this demon; the man was a plague. Since the day he arrived and the beasts attacked, Valo had been suffering. But he consoled himself with the thought that it would be over soon. If the Citadel wanted the Demon, they wouldn't waste time here. He just had to bear with it a little longer.

---

The carriage approached the village, where a warm welcome awaited at the gate. Mhlengi felt depressed; he didn't know how suffocating it would be to be stuck with his boss for days. He had to watch what he said and did. He couldn't even fart. He deserved to fart, goddamn it.

The ride had been a nightmare. It was awkward because it was so quiet. Priest Yara would just read the Codex all the time, and the Guardian Commander would sit silently with his arms crossed. This village was Mhlengi's salvation. Here he could get a bed for a few hours, take a bath, and drink some wine. God knew he needed it. The stories about the Brown-Eyed Demon grew more ridiculous. How could a man kill an evolved beast? Only a Guardian Commander or a Supreme Guardian could stand up to an evolved beast alone, and even that depended on the type of beast.

The tales spoke of him dancing a dance of death on the battlefield, slowly killing the creature while using Enforcers and hyenas as shields. They said that after the dance, the beast was covered in blood and couldn't move. He just shoved a relic into its mouth and blew its brains out. It sounded like a fairytale, but Priest Yara took it very seriously. He frowned at the Demon's supposed feats, especially the killing of more church members. Mhlengi could see how hard it was for Priest Yara to keep a straight face. He was so angry he looked like he wanted to strangle the Demon with his own hands.

The Chief welcomed them, but Mhlengi didn't care for pleasantries. He wanted some well-deserved shut-eye and finally some privacy to fart or even take a shit. He had been holding it in for too long. Successful men like him shouldn't suffer this much. He was once again suffering from success. It was stupid, but he sometimes missed his simple days as an Acolyte. Being a Chaplain was taking a toll on him, but at least he was well paid.

---

The pleasantries finally ended, and Yara also wanted his privacy. He was very particular about his hygiene; he was a germophobe. Being trapped with dirty men in his carriage was a nightmare. That's why he insisted on a bath every day on the journey. But his road supplies were running short, so he had to go a whole day without a proper shower. He felt filthy and hated himself for it.

That was why he joined the church: to be clean, to wear beautiful clothes, and to smell nice. This demon would pay for making him move from his comfort, for making him lift a finger. He didn't care about the Doctrine; it sounded nice, but he saw through the bullshit. He was intolerant of heretics because they were dirty and smelly, and they threatened the system of the Citadel. He couldn't live in a world where he couldn't bathe and wear nice, comfortable clothes. For that, he would maintain order, and he would hunt that demon until they were no longer a thorn in his side.

The warm bath was prepared for him by a Novice. As he sank into it, he immediately felt at home. For this, all heretics would fall in line, so he could maintain this life.

---

The next morning, the Chief was called into the Local Branch of the Citadel of the Eternal Remnant. He entered the meeting room. It was nice, with a vintage look of brown and cream white. It was spotless and smelled like flowers, creating a comforting atmosphere. He sat down on the sofa, and his heart bled. The cushions were softer than his expensive bed. The Citadel were high rollers, even in a small branch like this they had nice stuff.

Chief Valo was a little nervous; he'd expected them to be gone by now. But as he entered, he saw men working on the building. It was strange. Yara held the Codex in his hand. He didn't like reading, particularly; he just enjoyed seeing how humans could write something so self-serving. He was curious to see how far humanity could take its shamelessness.

"Valiant Priest, you summoned me."

"I did." Yara closed the Codex and laid it down beside him.

"How may I be of assistance?"

"Oh, nothing. I just have good news."

"Oh, please do share, Valiant Priest."

"I will be residing in your village for a while. I cannot move to find someone whose trail has gone cold. I will send my agents to track him so I can keep moving."

"Brilliant idea, Valiant Priest. You are indeed wise."

"Thank you. This is good news for you as well. With me here, I'd like the Citadel to fund your village and help it grow into a trading hub. I will need your help establishing it, and you will be generously compensated."

Valo couldn't believe his ears. How could this be? Was this a dream?

"I-It would be an honor to help the Citadel in that manner. The villagers and I would be delighted by your presence and assistance."

"Good to hear. I will start with the roads. People will come to work on the roads."

"Amazing, Valiant Priest. Your wisdom is beyond what a lowly servant like me can hope to comprehend."

The boot-licking had commenced. He was going to make Yara's boots shine with his tongue.

Just a day ago, he hated the Demon. Now he liked him. The Demon was his benefactor. Sitting there Mhlengi himself.

"He is my benefactor too."

---

Sizwe stood on a makeshift podium in the small town square of Saint Aiden, cloaked in the modest garb of an Acolyte. The square was bustling with villagers, many eager to hear the words of the Codex. Sizwe's appearance had drawn a curious crowd, and he milked their attention with an enthusiasm that surprised even him. Beside him, Mandla stood with crossed arms, a skeptical look on his face.

"Brothers and sisters!" Sizwe began, his voice booming across the square. "The Codex guides us to a life of virtue and prosperity. It teaches us to cherish our neighbors and live in harmony with the divine order!"

The crowd murmured in approval, their eyes fixed on Sizwe. He felt a rush of exhilaration; the attention was intoxicating. But as he preached, his mind wandered to the sumptuous meals he'd been enjoying at the church's expense. His stomach grumbled at the thought of tonight's feast—a spread of roasted meats, fresh bread, and an assortment of desserts that awaited him at the parish.

"The Codex speaks of discipline and self-control," he continued, gesturing passionately. "Yet it also tells us to enjoy the fruits of our labor and the bounty provided by our community!" His words were met with cheers, and Sizwe smiled inwardly. Enjoying the bounty was something he excelled at.

Mandla leaned in, whispering harshly, "This is blasphemy. You're exploiting the faith of these people for your own gain."

Sizwe shot him a sidelong glance, maintaining his public facade. "Relax, Mandla," he muttered through a clenched smile. "I'm just giving them hope while enjoying a bit of luxury. It's a win-win."

Turning back to the crowd, Sizwe raised his hands. "As we follow the Codex, we strengthen our bonds as a community. We rise above our hardships, knowing the church is here to support and uplift us!"

He envisioned the soft, buttery rolls he'd eat later, dripping with honey, and the laughter of the clergy as they toasted with fine wine. His mouth watered, but he maintained his righteous expression, the picture of a devout Acolyte.

"Our faith is our shield, our trust in the Codex is our sword!" Sizwe proclaimed. "In times of trial, the Codex provides all we need to prevail!"

The villagers were rapt, some nodding in fervent agreement, others clasping their hands in prayer. Sizwe's eyes twinkled as he imagined the steaming plates of stew and piles of sweet pastries laid out in the church dining hall.

Mandla's face darkened. "You're playing a dangerous game. What if they discover who you really are?"

Sizwe smirked. "They won't. To them, I'm just a humble servant of the Codex, bringing them solace."

He wrapped up his sermon with a final, dramatic gesture. "Let us always walk the path of the Codex, for it leads to salvation and abundance!"

The crowd erupted in applause, some even throwing coins at his feet in gratitude. Sizwe beamed, soaking in the adulation while calculating the number of pastries he could buy with the extra donations.

As the crowd dispersed, Sizwe noticed a group of hooded figures lingering at the edge of the square, their eyes fixed on him with unsettling intensity. His heart skipped a beat, but he quickly resumed his genial demeanor, waving at a passing parishioner who offered him a basket of fresh produce.

Mandla followed his gaze and frowned. "Who are they?"

Sizwe shrugged, but a cold knot of dread formed in his stomach. "Probably just more admirers."

But the figures didn't move, and their intent stares suggested otherwise. As Sizwe and Mandla made their way back to the church, the hooded figures melted into the shadows, their eyes never leaving Sizwe. Unknown to him, they were members of the Defiant, a rebel group sworn to undermine the church's authority. They had chosen their next target—Sizwe, the so-called Acolyte whose impassioned preaching and sudden rise to prominence had made him a prime candidate for their next act of defiance.

Sizwe continued to bask in the warmth of the villagers' smiles and the promise of a lavish dinner, blissfully unaware that his charade had attracted the deadly attention of those who would see him dead.