After llittle of walking through already crowded streets, Julius’s mood lifted slightly. The reason was his upcoming visit to the sanctuary of the sun goddess, which promised not only healing from the wounds he had received in a recent battle with a gargoyle, but also a meeting with a man who might help him stop the preaching of the false prophet Robert Sabens.

  Thinking about the scoundrel, Colman’s mind tried to extract as much information as possible from the leaflet he had read. Julius had no doubt that Robert was a very influential man, for to speak in one of the largest and oldest cathedrals in the kingdom one had to possess truly great connections within the Church.

  Yet this did not fit with his open heretical claims. A true chosen of the Great Protector would never, like a demon, exploit the despair of the innocent to enrich himself.

  For now, the adventurer decided to abandon further attempts to unravel the mystery. There were too many possibilities—from corruption to the interference of dark forces—and all of them sounded equally reasonable and equally absurd.

  Upon reaching the tall gray building of the cathedral, Julius Colman removed his wide-brimmed hat, revealing dark hair tied into a short tail, opened the massive wooden door, and slipped inside.

  The interior was quiet. Sunlight streaming through the glass roof—decorated with a vast pattern in the shape of Selra’s shield—illuminated a hall made of white bricks that shone like stars. The space was filled with wooden benches facing a tall pulpit rising at the center. From numerous icons hanging along the base of the high walls, dozens of saints gazed down upon the people. Among the few worshippers, a priest wandered about asking if anyone needed help.

  Julius quickly spotted the man he was looking for: a figure with a completely shaved head, dressed in a dark red coat, from whose belt hung a battle axe. The man stood near the right wall, hands folded before him in silent prayer.

  Weaving between the benches, Colman stopped not far from him and joined the prayer.

  The adventurer asked the goddess for forgiveness for his cowardice toward the priestess at the cemetery and for guidance in staying on the right path.

  When the prayer ended, the two men met each other’s gaze.

  “Greetings, Todd,” Julius whispered, looking at the wrinkled face of a man barely thirty years old.

  “Hello, Colman. Are you here on business, or did you simply miss me?” the man replied in an equally quiet whisper. He cast a predatory glance at the adventurer, as though waiting for the moment when Julius might leave himself open to a fatal blow.

  Julius shivered. Dealing with an inquisitor was not only unpleasant—it was dangerous. These paranoid individuals saw servants of dark powers in everyone and anyone, which could subject a person to brutal torture for the slightest suspicion or a single careless word.

  Yet despite that, Colman was willing to take the risk. After all, by the will of the goddess he had crossed paths with Todd several times before and seemed to have earned a small fragment of the man’s respect.

  Silently, he handed him a crumpled leaflet.

  The inquisitor unfolded the parchment and ran his dark-circled eyes over its contents before looking back at Julius.

  “I have no time for upstarts like this, Colman. I already have more than enough work,” the inquisitor said coldly, handing the leaflet back.

  “For example?” Julius asked, taking the parchment.

  “My problems do not concern you, Colman. And you should thank Selra for that,” Todd replied irritably.

  “If you don’t want to deal with it yourself, then give me some information and I’ll handle it,” Julius said.

  As soon as he finished speaking, the adventurer bit his lip, wondering whether it had been wise to demand anything from an inquisitor.

  Suddenly a hand fell onto his back, sending a sharp pain through him again. The surprise forced a low cry from his throat, instantly drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

  Julius awkwardly apologized for the noise and noticed a man behind him dressed in white clerical robes.

  “Are you alright?” the priest asked with concern.

  “No, but I’ll come to you later,” Julius replied quietly.

  “And you?” the priest added, turning to Todd.

  “You think I’m not alright?” the inquisitor asked kindly with a smirk, raising an eyebrow.

  This unexpected politeness was even more frightening than anger. The priest froze like a statue. His full face kept its calm expression, but terror was clearly visible in the poor man’s eyes. Julius felt as if he were watching a fly caught in a spider’s web. He knew the priest had no way to justify himself, and if nothing was done, the cleric would return from the chapter a cripple at best.

  The adventurer was already cursing the moment he had decided that speaking with this fanatic was a good idea. His palms clenched tightly into fists, ready, if necessary, to crash down on the inquisitor’s head. Colman had no desire to fall into the disfavor of the Order of Inquisition by defending a random priest, but he understood perfectly well that if he failed to do what he must, neither the goddess nor he himself would forgive it.

  “Insulting a member of the Inquisition is severely punishable, Father Wolfgang,” Todd continued in a tone that did not match his friendly smile.

  “How fortunate that you have never insulted me!” the inquisitor added with a chuckle, gesturing for the priest to leave at once—which the man hurriedly did.

  Julius silently stared at Todd. The adventurer wished the joker’s head would explode.

  “Now, back to our business. I cannot share anything with you, Colman. To do that, I would need to hire you—and that would mean I must answer to the Order for your actions,” the inquisitor said as if nothing had happened.

  “And I have no desire for that,” he added.

  “I see,” Julius replied with remarkable restraint, preparing to leave.

  Suddenly the inquisitor grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it as if he were clinging to a cliff above an abyss.

  “Don’t get durty” Todd warned.

  “Very much,” he added, releasing Colman before walking toward the exit.

  Julius exhaled in relief. Fortunately, it could be much worse. He promised himself that this would be the last time he dealt with inquisitors. Especially since the meeting had been a complete waste of time—no help would come from Todd. At least there was one good thing: he did not seem to plan on interfering either.

  Remembering that his business in the temple was not yet finished, Julius approached the priest and silently handed him two silver coins. The man nodded and, taking the money, gestured for Colman to turn his back.

  The adventurer obeyed and immediately heard the priest begin to invoke his gift of healing with a monotone yet pleasant prayer.

  Julius felt a familiar palm touch his back, but this time there was no pain. Instead, an incredible sense of relief washed over him—as if after ten years of sleeping on stones he had finally lain down on a soft bed. Gradually the pleasant feeling spread through his entire body. Julius savored every moment, and a grin flashed across his face.

  After a minute his body had completely recovered, and the only reminder of his wounds was his brown sheep-wool cloak, torn by the tail of a gargoyle.

  After thanking the priest, Colman headed toward the exit.

  As soon as Julius opened the massive door, a bright ray of sunlight blinded him. A kaleidoscope of blurred shapes flashed before his eyes. Grimacing, Colman stepped outside the temple and immediately put on his hat, driving away the strange illusion.

  Then he hurried down the street, moving farther and farther away from the cathedral.

  Opening the old door, Julius Colman stepped across the threshold of the inn ?Warm Welcome” and entered a spacious hall completely empty of visitors. Small tables were scattered here and there, and above them hung a simple iron chandelier with a dozen extinguished candles. Wax had dripped from them onto the freshly mopped floor, which creaked plaintively beneath someone’s footsteps.

  Turning around too late to react, Julius suddenly found himself caught in the wide embrace of muscular arms that immediately pressed him against a woman’s chest hidden beneath a vest made from the hide of some unknown beast. The adventurer’s ribs were squeezed so tightly it felt as if they might crack. He had to make almost inhuman effort just to draw a few miserable scraps of air into his lungs.

  “I waited for you in the guild for an hour, you bastard!” growled the woman, who stood half a head taller than Julius and was much broader in the shoulders. She loosened her grip slightly. “Where the hell were you?” the barbarian continued, now much calmer.

  “I’m also glad to see you” the adventurer said, tilting his head up. “I’ll explain everything—just, in Selra’s name, let me go!” he added, looking at the dark-skinned face of the short-haired northlander.

  “No,” the barbarian replied after a couple of seconds of thought. “You left me alone to die of boredom, so I have to avenge myself!” she added loudly, squeezing Colman again with renewed strength.

  Pain shot through the adventurer’s chest and back. He felt his vertebrae crack. Such antics from his companion were nothing new to him, but this time she was clearly overdoing it.

  “Sif, enough, damn it!” Colman rasped, struggling with all his strength to escape the bear-like embrace.

  At that very moment, the adventurer felt relief, as if he had been pulled out from beneath a boulder. Taking a deep breath, Colman grabbed his chest—it felt as though it had been trampled, though the pain was already fading. Julius pulled a chair away from the nearest table and collapsed into it.

  The barbarian looked away guiltily, then followed his example and sat down across from him.

  “At least I managed to squeeze a proper curse out of you,” she said, suddenly cheerful.

  “That is certainly something to be proud of,” Julius muttered, waving it off.

  “So where were you?” the barbarian asked, resting her head on her fist.

  “At the cemetery. Went to kill a monster,” Colman said, leaning back slightly as he waited for her reaction.

  “Without me?!” the northelander protested.

  “I wanted to preserve the integrity of the surroundings there, and that would have been difficult with you,” Julius said, glancing at the massive two-handed war hammer strapped to the barbarian’s back.

  Colman suddenly pressed his lips together, remembering how he himself had toppled a statue of Drum onto a gargoyle.

  “Fair enough…” Sif replied. “But how noble it would be—to go alone and die in defense of polished stones,” she continued sarcastically.

  “There is nothing foolish about tprotecting graves,” the adventurer said calmly, though he had always been baffled by his companion’s almost childish inability to understand such fundamental things.

  “There is nothing smart about dying for them!” the northlander snapped angrily. “Ah, doesn’t matter. I have news for you,” the barbarian added after a few seconds of silence.

  Julius was glad that his companion had regained control of her emotions, but the mention of news made him uneasy. The day had already been getting worse and worse, and it seemed determined to reach the absolute peak of unpleasantness.

  “What kind of news?” Colman asked cautiously.

  “Robin invited all the guild members to an night feast at his estate to celebrate a successful wyvern hunt!” the northlander replied, her eyes shining with excitement and anticipation.

  Just as Julius expected, the news could hardly have been worse. Normally he would have simply ignored this parade of gluttony and debauchery, but the fact that Sif had told him about it—knowing perfectly well how he felt about this disgusting gatherings—made him suspect that she wanted him to go there with her.

  “I’m not going,” Colman cut in quickly, crossing his arms.

  “You’re wrong about that!” the barbarian insisted, jumping to her feet and confirming his fears. “I bet Robin two gold coins that I could drag your pious ass to his estate,” the northlander declared as if it were a matter of life and death.

  "A bet?!” Julius exclaimed in confusion, slumping in his chair like a corpse.

  He had been betrayed. Sif—his companion and friend—was trying to force him to betray his own principles over a wager! Colman felt the urge to leap at the woman, but through the anger and resentment another idea came to mind.

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  “Fine. I’ll go to the feast with you. But there’s one condition,” Julius said, standing up as well.

  The barbarian looked at him questioningly.

  “At noon I need to be at ?Fabene?. And you’re coming there with me,” Colman finished solemnly.

  “You mean that huge cathedral? What do you need there for?

  Instead of answering, Julius silently pulled a badly crumpled leaflet from beneath his cloak and handed it to her. She took it lightly, unfolded it, and began to read.

  “No offence, Julius, but this looks like a shit to me,” Sif said, crumpling the sheet of parchment into a ball and tossing it onto the floor.

  “Really?” Colman asked sarcastically, watching the crumpled parchment hit the damp wooden boards. He had actually wanted to keep it.

  Noticing the mocking tone of her companion, the barbarian simply rolled her eyes.

  “And what’s your plan? Jump onto a podium and start preaching about what a terrible man this Sabens is?” she said, as if reading Julius’s thoughts.

  “What, would it be better to smash the podium to gods dam pieces?” Julius growled, spreading his hands in irritation.

  “Oh, swearing again!” Sif noted, snapping her fingers.

  Colman merely sighed in disappointment and slapped his palm against his face.

  “Relax. If things don’t start smelling like trouble, I’ll sit quiet as a mouse,” the barbarian assured him.

  “So you’ll come with me?” Julius asked. He was surprised the savage had agreed so easily, considering her extreme dislike of churchly silence.

  “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway,” Sif replied with a shrug. “And something tells me it definitely won’t be boring,” she added.

  “All right, then one more thing,” Julius said, removing his brown cloak, which was torn in several places. “Put this on. You might be not allowed to enter because of your exotic apperance”

  He held the cloak out to the woman, who was dressed in rough clothing stitched together from the hides of various beasts and monsters.

  Sif threw the cloak over her broad shoulders, hiding everything beneath it except her neck and head.

  “And don’t bring the hammer with you,” Julius continued.

  “Like hell,” Sif refused.

  The adventurer only let out a tired sigh. He didn’t want to argue. All he wanted now was to go upstairs and fall onto his bed. The morning had already been difficult, and the troubles clearly weren’t planning to end anytime soon—there was no reason to create new ones.

  “All right, I’m going to my room. Come back here by noon,” Julius said, suppressing a yawn, before heading toward the staircase leading to the second floor.

  “You’re leaving me alone again?” the barbarian protested, watching Colman walk away. “At least show me your pathetic little dwelling,” she added.

  “No, I’ve decided to abandon you again,” the adventurer replied mockingly as he climbed the creaking steps.

  “Keep that up and you’ll die a virgin!” Sif shouted after the adventurer, who had already disappeared from view.

  Walking down the corridor, dimly lit by the light coming through the windows, Julius Colman felt around in his pocket and found a small iron key. Stopping in front of one of the doors on the left wall, he inserted the key into the lock and turned it counterclockwise.

  A click sounded. Colman gently pushed the door open and stepped into a modest room with a neatly made bed. A writing desk free of paperwork stood a little farther away, along with a worn but still sturdy wooden chair.

  Taking off his hat, he hung it on a rack where three pairs of cloaks and hats identical to his own were already hanging. Julius sat down on the bed, pulled off his chainmail shirt, tossed it over the back of the chair, and kicked off his tall boots. Then he laid his head down on the soft pillow.

  Suddenly the door creaked and slowly opened. A pretty blonde face appeared in the doorway.

  “Julius, are you hungry?” she asked.

  “No,” Colman replied, staring at the ceiling.

  “Why are you lying there so gloomy? Are you sick?” the girl asked.

  “I don’t have time to be sick,” Julius joked.

  “I see,” said the innkeeper and closed the door.

  He sighed with relief. It was good that Lisa had quickly left him alone. He wasn't angry with her; she was only trying to express her gratitude for saving her family. But this honor made Julius wary; it seemed somehow overdone and undeserved. Well it much better than nothing.

  After waiting a moment to make sure no one else would bother him, Colman closed his eyes.

  A muffled knocking sound reached the adventurer’s ears. He opened his eyes and lifted himself slightly to look around. The room had grown much darker. Noticing the change, Julius realized he had fallen asleep.

  A worrying thought immediately appeared in his mind: what if he had slept through the entire day?

  Jumping off the bed and walking to the window, the adventurer saw that heavy rain was pouring from the dark gray clouds covering the sky.

  Dressing quickly, Colman left the room and went back down to the hall, which had by now acquired several guests soaked to the bone. To his relief, he immediately spotted Sif wrapped in a cloak, sitting in the same place as before, casually eating a chicken leg and sipping ale from a wooden mug.

  “Are you ready?” Julius asked, standing behind her shoulder.

  “Is it time?” the barbarian said with her mouth full.

  “If you don’t know that, why did you come?” Colman asked in confusion.

  “I never left, you idiot. See? Not a drop on me,” Sif replied, pointing at her completely dry cloak.

  “Does anyone know what time it is?” Julius asked the other visitors.

  “The bells haven’t rung yet. Probably around eleven,” one of them shouted back.

  Thanking the man for the information, Julius headed for the door.

  “Wait, I’m not finished this chicken yet,” Sif stopped him.

  “Your breakfast can wait. Today hundreds of people may be doomed to starve,” Julius said.

  “Maybe to hell with them? In the end, it’s their own fault for believing every piece of nonsense,” the barbarian replied without interrupting her meal.

  Julius returned to the table where she sat and leaned one hand against it.

  “Maybe you’re right. But carrying the light of truth is my sacred duty,” he said. “And I intend to fulfill it—with or without you.”

  “With your holiness you’ve completely ruined my appetite,” the barbarian sighed irritably as she stood up.

  Leaving a couple of copper coins on the table, Julius and Sif stepped out onto the small porch, from which the familiar silhouette of the snow-white castle could be seen—blurred behind a wall of millions of raindrops.

  “Lovely weather,” Julius declared.

  “Let the role of the joker stay with me,” Sif commented.

  “And who said I was joking?” the adventurer replied cheerfully as he stepped into the rain.

  They walked in silence the entire way. The downpour was tremendous, and the only thought in their minds was how to reach the temple as quickly as possible. That proved difficult: because of the rain it was hard to see anything beyond few meters, so Julius had to rely on his knowledge of the streets, his instincts, and the ringing of church bells that began tolling a few minutes after they left the tavern.

  After about ten minutes of wandering through the flooded streets, a soaked Julius and his companion finally reached the Cathedral of Saint Faben. Recognizing it was not difficult—its colossal size stood out clearly even in such weather.

  Once inside the warm building, Colman finally realized how badly he had frozen. He could barely keep himself from shivering, unlike the barbarian, who showed no signs of discomfort.

  Removing his hat with its drooping brim and taking off the cloak clinging to his limbs, Julius noticed a young man in a white robe approaching him.

  “Greetings, travelers. Are you seeking salvation from Saint Sabens?” he asked, bowing politely.

  “Yeah,” Sif answered.

  “Then you will need to make a payment of ten gold,” the man said. “Do not worry—part of the money will go to help those in need who have not yet been reached by the hand of the Chosen.”

  Without hesitation, Julius pulled out a handful of gold that the priestess of Drum had given him and counted out twenty coins. He wanted to ask the acolyte what exact percentage would go to the needy, but decided it would be better to ask Robert personally.

  After receiving the payment, the acolyte bowed again and disappeared deeper into the hall, brightly illuminated by thousands of candles. The adventurers moved along the long rows of benches filled with worshippers. Looking at the crowd, Julius noticed that among the sick and destitute people sat several richly dressed, yet their faces were just as grim.

  At last the travelers managed to find seats. Colman was intrigued by the fact that in the first row, besides them, there sat only a beggar dressed in torn rags. But the moment a stench comparable to that of a rotting giant sewer rat hit his nose, the adventurer’s curiosity vanished.

  The bells struck exactly noon, and at that moment the candles lighting most of the hall went out. Only those burning in the chandeliers above the platform remained. A bald man with a long beard stepped up to the podium. The adventurer immediately recognized him as the man depicted on the leaflet.

  After solemnly greeting the congregation, Robert began a long speech. Julius did not bother listening—he had not come for that, and there was nothing in the tirade except thinly veiled self-admiration.

  “What are you waiting for? He’s right here!” Sif whispered, leaning toward Colman.

  “If I interrupt him now, I’ll only anger the crowd, and no one will listen to me,” Julius explained, gesturing toward the people sitting around them, who were reverently listening to the priest.

  “And how long is he going to keep talking?” the barbarian asked.

  Robert paused his speech to clear his throat and gave the two whispering adventurers a stern look. They quickly leaned away from each other, staring at something fascinating on the floor beneath their feet. After that, Sabens’s coughing fit suddenly stopped, and he continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

  Soon the speech came to an end, and Robert began calling people to the platform.

  The beggar from the first row jumped up first. The poor man hurried barefoot toward the podium, spreading a stench that overpowered the scent of countless incenses. When he reached the lectern, Sabens placed his hand on the man’s head, from which long strands of dirty hair hung, and began pressing him down. The beggar did not resist and fell onto his knees, grabbing the priest’s hand.

  “Your prayers had better work,” he rasped.

  For a moment fear flashed across Sabens’s face, but it was instantly replaced by fatherly kindness.

  “You have nothing to fear. The worst is already behind you,” Robert replied in a velvety voice. Then he raised his other hand and began reciting a prayer.

  Visually nothing changed, but Julius immediately felt a tremor run through his body, filling his soul with an unnatural calm and relaxation—as if all the troubles of the world had vanished and worrying about anything had become pointless.

  Colman would have been surprised, if he had been capable of it at that moment. It seemed that all the achievements Sabens claimed were true. Few priests were capable of channeling such a tremendous flow of divine power.

  Gradually the prayer came to an end, and the adventurer’s thoughts began to clear. He admired Robert’s abilities. But the more Julius thought about Sabens, the more his admiration turned into disgust. He despised the priest for using such immense power to exploit the desperation of people in order to enrich himself. Nothing prevented him from charging far less and still living well.

  Colman waited impatiently for the healed beggar to leave, giving him the chance to leap up to the podium and ask Sabens several pointed questions—questions that would be difficult to answer without burying his reputation as a ?saint?.

  Having finished praying, Robert raised the hand that held the beggar’s head, and the man followed the motion. Rising from his knees, the beggar shook the priest’s hand off himself.

  “You are healed, my son,” Robert said casually, spreading his arms.

  The sincerity with which he spoke struck Julius. Perhaps he was the one who was wrong? And if he was right, perhaps everything would end without a fierce struggle for the minds of the congregation? There was only one way to find out.

  “Let’s check it,” the man growled, before striking the priest across the face with the flat of his hand. Robert was hurled with great force into the crowd of seated worshippers.

  Cries of pain erupted, followed by screams of terror. Hundreds of people rushed toward the exit at once, trampling the unfortunate ones who slipped on the rain-soaked floor or were too weakened by illness to keep their feet.

  Meanwhile, the beggar’s skin began to peel away in strips, revealing thick black fur beneath. His size changed as well: the skinny, hunched man grew taller and broader—even larger than the barbarian Sif. His face stretched into a wolf’s muzzle, filled with rows of razor-sharp fangs.

  Realizing what was happening, Julius drew his sword and sprang toward the pulpit with feline agility, intending to kill the creature before the transformation was complete. He brought his blade down toward the lycanthrope’s face.

  The monster reacted instantly, catching the wavy blade in its jaws and clamping it between its fangs. With a violent jerk of its head, the creature tore the sword from the adventurer’s grip and flung it behind itself.

  Without hesitation, Julius leapt backward, barely avoiding the first swipe of the creature’s clawed paw. He ducked under the second strike and rolled behind the monster.

  Searching for his sword, the adventurer realized it had flown much farther than he expected. A deafening roar filled the hall, drowning out the terrified cries of the crowd.

  Colman lunged forward, hoping the long claws would not sink into him. But when he turned, he saw that the werewolf wasn’t even looking at him. Its attention was fixed on the barbarian, who wielded a war hammer and had already landed a bone-crushing blow to the monster’s chest.

  Deciding that a better opportunity might never come, Julius drew a long dagger and rushed at the creature’s back. Hearing the pounding footsteps behind it, the werewolf twitched its ears. The moment Colman leapt from the floor, a powerful strike from the beast’s furry forearm slammed into his chest and hurled him several meters away.

  Sliding between two tall stone columns, Julius felt not only the expected pain but also something like relief as he saw Sif seize the moment and smash her hammer into the creature’s jaws, knocking several fangs loose instantly.

  Jumping back to his feet, the adventurer scanned the hall and noticed that his sword now lay much closer. He dashed toward it, grabbed the hilt, and lifted the weapon from the floor.

  Meanwhile, the confrontation between the northlander and the lycanthrope had reached a stalemate. Despite its size, the monster was agile and easily dodged the swift swings of the hammer. The barbarian, in turn, skillfully used the reach of her weapon to keep the werewolf from getting close enough to strike.

  Julius decided it was time to tip the scales. With a shout he charged the werewolf, hoping to draw its attention again.

  A sharp pain in his chest forced him to stop, and his shout turned into a bloody cough. The monster turned and swung a long clawed arm at him, but suddenly pivoted back and slashed the barbarian across the face. She barely managed to recoil in time, escaping with deep, bleeding cuts.

  Fighting through the cough, Colman turned the creature’s maneuver against it and swung his sword with all his strength at its ankle. The blade sliced through unprotected hide and flesh, severing the tendon. The creature nearly fell backward but instead collapsed onto one knee.

  Instantly the heavy pommel of the war hammer crashed into the monster’s back,with a sickening crunch and forcing the werewolf onto all fours.

  Wounded and furious, the lycanthrope dodged the second strike and hurled its entire body at Julius, aiming its remaining fangs at his throat.

  Under the creature’s weight the adventurer was thrown onto his back, defending himself with the blade of his sword, which the beast once again clamped between its jaws.

  Julius struggled to hold back the massive werewolf.

  Suddenly he felt a dozen claws sink into his shoulders. His arms quickly began to weaken and going downward, bringing the wolf’s maw closer and closer, saliva mixed with blood dripping from its fangs.

  The last thing Colman saw was the heavy head of the war hammer crashing down onto the monster’s skull—after which his vision was flooded by a torrent of thick, red liquid.

  Spitting out the blood that had gotten into his mouth, Julius Colman tried to push the werewolf’s body off himself, but the weight proved too much for his injured arms. Realizing the adventurer’s predicament, Sif shoved the corpse aside and helped him to his feet.

  Nodding gratefully to the barbarian, Julius ran along the rows of benches to where Sabens had been thrown, stepping around the people trampled in panic and the novices gathered around those who were still capable of groaning in pain. He had seen this grim scene many times before. What was the point of emotions here? Colman reached his destination. The bench onto which the priest had fallen had tipped over under the weight of the body that now hung lifelessly over its back. Robert’s head had been crushed by the powerful fist of the werewolf, and vertebrae protruded unnaturally from beneath his neck.

  Colman sat onto a nearby bench. The whole scene reminded him of the story of Perin that had often been read to him in childhood—only here he felt no joy at the ending. Robert had possessed a power that only a truly wise and strong-willed person could obtain, yet he had succumbed to pride,overestimated his own abilities, and paid the price.

  But if even such people were not protected from falling into sin, what chance did a mere adventurer have?

  “If it weren’t for you, the number of victims would have been far greater! How can we repay you?” a male voice asked from the side, interrupting the adventurer’s grim thoughts.

  Turning around, Julius saw a novice in a white robe standing before him. The young man’s face was pale, and his body trembled slightly—either from the cold air coming through the open doorway or from the sight of the corpses lying on the floor.

  “A fifty gold coins would satisfy us,” Sif answered. Neither Julius nor the novice had noticed her approach.

  “Of course, we will reward you generously,” the hairless youth said, stammering slightly.

  “We also want all the money people paid Robert today to be returned to them in full,” Colman demanded.

  “Of course. After such a horror, we simply have no right to keep that gold,” the acolyte replied before walking away.

  “One more thing,” Colman called after him. “It would also be good if someone patched us up.”

  After their wounds had been healed and their pockets had grown heavier with reward gold, Julius and Sif put on their cloaks—still not fully dry—and stepped out to meet the downpour, which did not seem likely to end anytime soon.

  As Colman left the cathedral, he could not shake the unpleasant thought that Robert’s students might not return the money but instead divide the enormous sum among themselves. Still, he wanted to hope for the best.