※ “When doctrine cannot defend itself, it sends someone who can.”

  A ripple tore through the crowd as heavy footfalls approached—the distinct sound of metal that knew purpose.

  Sir Darrion stepped forward.

  Tall. Armored. Expression carved from discipline and pride. His tabard blazed with the Flame’s sigil, and the air around him sharpened.

  He did not look at Lisa at first.

  He looked at his god.

  “My lord.”

  The Sanctified Flame inclined his head. “Your faith is proven. Your blade is mine. Correct this anomaly.”

  Sir Darrion turned.

  His gaze fell on Lisa with the cold disinterest of an executioner regarding a grain of sand before the sword descended.

  “You stand before a god,” he said. “You stand before me. Kneel, or I will—”

  “You perform tasks your ‘boss’ refuses to do directly,” Lisa said. “Therefore: henchman.”

  A strangled sound escaped someone in the crowd.

  Sir Darrion’s eyebrow twitched. “What?”

  “You enforce collection of divine fees,” she continued. “You break arms and legs to ensure compliance. Classic enforcer pattern.”

  A few peasants gasped. One snorted. Another muttered, “Honestly sounds right.”

  Sir Darrion took a step forward, gauntlet tightening on his sword hilt. “I do not break the faithful. I protect them from—”

  “Your employer’s wrath?”

  More gasps.

  Sir Darrion’s jaw clenched. “You know nothing of the Flame’s design.”

  Lisa blinked once. “I know you are a mid-level enforcer in a hierarchical extraction structure.”

  He opened his mouth to retort—and froze.

  Recognition flashed across his face.

  Her face.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Her posture.

  Her expressionless calm.

  “You.”

  His voice cracked.

  “You’re the one… the one who triggered the rank surge.”

  He had gone from Rank 10 to Rank 11. Overnight. Violently. Painfully. Sacrificially.

  “You,” he said again, voice low and wrathful. “You cost me blood. You cost me half my strength for weeks. You are the anomaly.”

  Lisa did not blink.

  “It was not intentional.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” His hand gripped his sword. “It means there is no point speaking to you. You are a threat to divine order.”

  He straightened, voice rising.

  “I will purify you in sacred flame.”

  The crowd recoiled.

  Halden made a sound like a triumphant sob.

  Sir Darrion lifted his sword high.

  “I invoke you in Sanctified Duel under the Flame’s authority—”

  A pane appeared in front of Lisa.

  She lifted one hand without looking away from the paladin—an absent, almost polite gesture requesting silence—while her eyes scanned the notification.

  The market fell utterly still.

  The notification was long.

  Very long.

  Concerningly long.

  Lines. Clauses. Sub-clauses. Exceptions. Penalties. Amendments referencing older amendments, themselves referencing contradictory patches. It read like a divine lawsuit duct-taped to a ritual protocol and then rewritten by someone paid by the word.

  She scrolled.

  And scrolled.

  And scrolled.

  At the end, one short final line gleamed.

  Her lips curved—barely—a micro-expression of amusement.

  She closed the pane.

  Sir Darrion scowled. “Are you done wasting sacred time?”

  Lisa looked at him. “Are you certain you want this duel?”

  “Absolutely,” he snarled.

  “You may injure yourself.”

  Half the crowd stifled laughter. The other half stifled panic.

  Sir Darrion’s face darkened. “Coward. Hiding behind words. Hiding behind logic. Hiding behind neutrality. The duel will strip all that away.”

  “Incorrect,” Lisa said. “I still have a line to serve.”

  Gasps. One loud laugh before its owner clapped a hand over their mouth.

  “You mock sacred tradition,” Sir Darrion growled. “I will enjoy cleansing you.”

  Lisa nodded. “I accept the duel.”

  A shockwave of divine heat rolled outward as the Sanctified Flame lifted one hand.

  The ground cracked in a perfect circle around the two challengers. Crowds stumbled backward in awe. Merchants scrambled to save their crates. Guards froze, helpless.

  Space widened.

  Dust lifted.

  Heat shimmered in vertical columns.

  Lisa and Sir Darrion stood across from one another, at the center of a newly formed arena.

  The Sanctified Flame lowered his hand.

  The duel boundary sealed.