Chapter 14: The World Beyond

In the heart of all kingdoms lies the Holy Empire, a theocracy where the Holy Church governs both spiritual matters and the daily lives of its people. Two figures share this sacred power: the Holy Maiden and the Apostle of Deliverance.

The Holy Maiden conveys God's words and ordinances. Her pure heart shapes the laws that govern homes and markets. When she speaks, people kneel, trusting her voice as God's own truth.

The Apostle of Deliverance rules the land. He delivers God's love to the lost. By the sacred swords of the Holy Knight crusaders, he guides the blind toward the light. These knights march under banners adorned with holy flames, offering both salvation and judgment.

Where salvation has failed, judgment is delivered—swift and merciful. They burned the dens of the heretics, salted the fields of the deviates, and hung rebels on roadside trees. The Church calls this Holy Work—cutting rot from the faithful.

On this sunlit day, with oaks providing shade, a boy sipped tea in the garden. A book rested on his knees while butterflies fluttered among the roses and lilies. Their scent mingled with that of freshly cut grass. The boy sat still, his white robes blending into the tranquil scene.

Pages turned with the breeze until heavy brocade robes rustled through the garden grass. A bishop approached, stirring the quiet. Silver sacred symbols gleamed on his cloak. He knelt, unbothered by the damp earth staining his knees. His forehead brushed the ground.

"Lord Candidate," he breathed, "the crusaders returned early."

The boy's fingers froze on a gilt-edged page. "They weren't expected for another month," he said. His teacup clinked as he set it down. "Why this haste?"

"His Holiness summoned them in preparation for the Holy Communion." Silk vestments whispered as the bishop pressed his palms deeper into the soil.

Whoosh-flutter. A sparrow darted into the sky, and the boy's shadow rippled. "Of course."

"Does my Lord…question this divine summons?" The bishop dared a fleeting glance at the child's face.

Sunlight fractured through the boy's laughter. "Can sprouts comprehend the rites of harvest?" He snapped the book shut with deliberate finality. "Tell me—did one called Kane Notchm march among them?"

"Yes, my Lord. He marched with the 444th legion, though he lagged behind."

"Lagged?"

"He was…left behind. Only when he received the Holy Summon did he rejoin his legion."

"Left behind?" The boy paused and then smiled faintly. "Good." He reopened the book, its spine creaking. "God watch your steps."

"Blessed be thy holiness." The bishop kissed his ring bearing the Church's sigil—a gesture reserved for altars, not garden dirt. His embroidered hem snagged on thorns as he retreated. 

Alone once more, the boy's gaze drifted to a spider weaving its shattered web. Three crows burst from the trees, their cries echoed across empty courtyards—"Notchm… Notchm… Notchm…"

—

[Vinest, Gorsmurd]

Three breastkins stood among the ruins. Their faces twisted in disgust. "What happened here?" one growled, striking his tusks. "Where are those worms? This place is desolate—ruined! How will we explain this to the captain?"

The biggest among them narrowed his eyes, scanning the wreckage. "Monster attack—that's what we'll say. And while we're at it, let's see if there's treasure to take." He grinned, but it didn't last.

They scavenged every field and every hut, but rot was all they found. The big one scowled.

"Are there no survivors?" one asked, incredulous. "What did they face? A monster tide?"

"Impossible!" The big one's anger boiled over. "Those worms couldn't kill a single monster, let alone this many. And where are the bodies?" He kicked an empty cart. It crashed into a crumbled hut.

Rattle. Rattle. They turned.

Hmu Hmo emerged, pushing a cart of fruits. It wasn't perfect, but it was something amidst the rot.

"A brat?" one sneered, leaning down to jeer into his face. "And what's this he brought us?" He kicked the cart, sending one precious fruit into the dirt.

"Still wasting time on the monthly harvest?" another barked with a cruel laugh. "Where are the rest, worm?!"

Hmu Hmo swallowed hard, his hands gripping the cart's handle until his knuckles turned white. His lips twitched, but he kept his gaze low and his back bent—just like the elder had taught him. "H–here...the monthly harvest," he stammered.

The big one snorted. "Monthly harvest?" he mocked, circling the boy like a predator. "The chart said three carts of fruits, three of grains, three of herbs, and three of spices. You're short—woefully short."

"I—"

—Slap. A tooth came loose, buried in the dirt. Drip-drip-drip...

"There's no excuse for the chart, brat. It was stamped by the King himself. You're lucky we didn't hang you on the spot."

He grabbed a fruit from the cart, inspecting it with a sneer before crushing it in his fist. "This garbage isn't even fit for swine."

They berated him. Vicious as always. One breastkin grabbed Hmu Hmo by the collar and lifted him clean off the ground. "Where's the rest, brat? Or are you trying to get us hanged, too?"

Hmu Hmo's breaths came ragged now, his mind racing. He had spent days working the fields alone, preserving every fruit he could find among the rot. Was it all for nothing? Was it ever enough for them? His lip twitched, eyes burning with defiance.

"And the King," his voice cracked, "promised to keep us safe! Where was he?!"

His defiance shocked the breastkins. They fell silent for a brief moment. Then, the grip on his collar tightened. "The King does not care for worms like you," the breastkin spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "If not for your dirt-digging, you would be long gone. But now, you ungrateful creature dared to complain?"

His hand closed around Hmu Hmo's throat; it barely filled his palm. He lifted Hmu Hmo's higher and squeezed.

Hmu Hmo's vision blurred. He flailed—a desperate kick. Fingers dug into the hide, clawed, scratched—useless. It only tickled.

Desperate, his hand brushed the hilt of his harvesting knife. He drove the blade into the breastkin's hand. The breastkin yelped, dropping him. "Pest!" he shouted.

Hmu Hmo landed hard but did not hesitate. He scrambled to his feet and bolted. The breastkins chased after him. He plunged into the woods, and their shouts faded.

"Leave him," the big one heaved. "There's nothing but monsters beyond this point. He'll be dead within the hour."

"Tsk," the injured breastkin spat. "He could be the last one. What are we going to do now?"

"Frostgale. We need to restock the worms before the captain returns."