The wreckage of the burnt out worship hall smells something awful. I walk alongside Teddy and Will at the back of the pack, while Bran and his crew urgently make their way toward the prominently displayed treasure chest at the front. They hardly spare a glance for the grand mural etched into the back most wall of the room.

  It's a pretty mural, depicting a beautiful goddess wrapped in vines and one with nature. I suppose she must be what created these mushroom monsters, or at least what they believe created them. How much of their religion is truth?

  The sound of the wooden treasure chest being popped open is barely noticed by the three of us at the back. We're expecting another haul of coins while their group is getting some good items to sell for real money.

  "Seriously?! More fucking useless coins?"

  One of Bran's men curses, the one who has been holding out potions. He kicks the chest with an irritated expression. The two women in the group look nearly as pissed off as he is acting. Bran is clenching his jaw. I take a peek at the chest with Teddy and Will, finding the whole thing piled high with golden dungeon coins. That has to be a fortune's worth of gold right there!

  "It isn't useless at all, you could sell that much gold to a blacksmith to actually get a few gold coins. But someone promised all the coins to a couple of brats!"

  This time it is one of the women complaining to the group. The other woman, who Teddy spared his healing potion for, looks a bit less bitter. She doesn't blame us for their misfortune at least. Bran himself turns to face his group with all the gentleness of a lion.

  "We're leaving the dungeon."

  "Seriously, Bran? Are you so fucking spineless that you'd leave that money for a couple of kids?"

  "Those kids you're talking ill of are the only reason we got this far!"

  The weaselly man scoffs, sneering at Bran as if what he's said is ridiculous. Truly it was Teddy's plan that helped us clear such a dangerously large room. Without us Bran's group would have likely failed to get this deep into the temple.

  "Those kids got a man killed, Bran! You really want his life to be traded for nothing?"

  Bran's face is bright red with rage. He clenches his fists, his arms shaking with barely contained wrath as he stares down the snide little man in front of him. A collective gasp leaves all of our mouths as Bran suddenly grabs the man arguing with him by the throat, lifting him up off the ground. The thin man squirms, his face turning a shade of red as he chokes.

  "You want to blame a man's death on them? That boy gave up his own resources for our safety when he had no reason to do so. He acted selflessly."

  The man in his clutches can't respond, his eyes bulging a little as he gags out nonsensical responses in an attempt to argue. The women from Bran's group both look worried. The one who was previously wounded speaks up on the man's behalf.

  "Bran, this is too far, let go of him. You're hurting him!"

  Bran laughs far too loudly. Teddy and Will both take a step back, so I follow suit. Bran lifts the squirming man a bit higher off the ground as he speaks. His booming voice is full of rage that feels unwarranted in this situation. Perhaps I misjudged his character?

  "Oh no, this isn't too far at all! Tell me, boys, how many healing potions did this bastard sneak from his time with you?"

  Teddy speaks up, his voice a bit unsteady in the face of the man, "T-Three, Sir."

  "And how many potions did I give him personally?!"

  The woman from before replies this time "One potion, Bran, now let him go!"

  Bran's grip doesn't loosen, but rather it tightens. The man in his grasp squirms and kicks his legs in a feeble attempt to fight for his freedom. His face is turning a shade of purple that is quite unsettling. At this rate he will die.

  Then, as if on cue, the man's wriggling frees a pouch that nearly falls to the ground. Bran catches it in his free hand and reveals four healing potions inside. They're all uncorked, identical looking. Confusion is reflected on the faces of Bran's underlings. The man in Bran's grasp hisses as an understanding is reached.

  How is it that a man who pilfered three potions, was given one potion, and then gave one potion back could still have four potions? One could assume he must have brought in a potion to the situation for his own personal use.

  Another, more sinister possibility, is that he never actually gave a potion away. The women in Bran's group both go wide eyed as they stare at the potions in the pouch. The man who died from his grievous wounds could have been saved.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  This treacherous man gave a fake potion to Bran in hopes of keeping more to himself.

  Before anyone can say anything more on the matter, Bran drops the man to the floor and wields his spear. What follows is an act of vigilante justice. The head of Bran's spear pierces the deceptive man's throat in one straight thrust.

  Blood gushes from the round as the life drains from the man's eyes. He's motionless in seconds, and no one offers a healing potion to prevent his death.

  "We're leaving. Now." Bran growls.

  The sound of footsteps catches our attention, and before anyone can react to what's happening Bran throws his spear like a javelin across the room. We turn to see a merul with blood on its mitten shaped hands lying lifelessly on the stone floor, with Bran's spear in its face.

  It must have killed the cowardly man from before.

  That makes three dead, all killed by the flaws of humans rather than monsters.

  ~

  The man before me is bowing his head low not in reverence to God but in shame. I sigh, resting my chin upon my hand idly. My paladin has failed me, that much is clear in his posture alone. I raise my hand and wave it dismissively.

  "Speak, loyal servant. How was your mission?"

  My paladin doesn't raise his head as he speaks. His normally pride filled voice is a tad hollow now that he has to admit he was not able to carry out his duties.

  "We entered the foul dungeon and called upon God's might to deliver us to victory. His grace sealed shut one portion of the hellscape, and we entered the second plane of that foul place to cleanse it at the source."

  So they managed some success, after all. I had felt some rumbling earlier today. That must have been God's wrath being wrought upon the blasphemous place. It is a shame I didn't see such a faith strengthening event myself.

  "I see. And what came of your excursion?"

  "We found a mind bending forest of such magnitude it was challenging the heavens, so we naturally cleansed it. Oil and fire set the whole of the place ablaze, Your Excellency."

  That forest in the illustrations was real, then? How unsettling. I have to imagine that fire did a number on that hellish plane, but I dislike the attitude my paladin has. He is acting as if he has failed. What went wrong?

  "And did you cleanse the place as a result?"

  "Unfortunately, no, Your Excellency."

  "And why not?"

  My fist slams down upon the table like a judge's gavel. My paladin flinches, his shoulders hunched as he dares to lift his head to look upon my visage. He has an awkward smile on his face, as if he hopes by appearing hopeful I will be merciful.

  "The flames of our cleansing fire were too great, and several of the men were already dead. I elected to retreat in order to save manpower."

  "You decided to conserve the lives of you and your men, is that it?"

  "Yes, Your Excellency."

  A bitter chuckle leaves my lips. It is clear my paladin was under some misguided assumption that the lives of a few paladins are worth failing a mission. He is mistaken, as life is cheap compared to success. An infinite number of willing fools much like him are lining up behind him with the hope to be chosen as a paladin and to carry out God's will.

  "I think you are mistaken about something, loyal servant of God."

  My paladin's brows furrow together. It is irritating how perfectly chiseled the man's face is, like some statue, challenging my own visage. I calmly approach the man, and place my hand on his shoulder. He looks up to me with a blank expression.

  "Your life is worth less than this failure."

  "P-Pardon, Your Excellency?"

  I lean down, bringing my face closer to his. I'm sure the man can feel my breath tickling his features. He might mistake this for some closeness, a level of trust I have in him, but rather it is a distraction from how I grip the handle of his sword and draw it slowly. The blade is heavy in my hands.

  "You failed me, therefore you are defective."

  "But your excellency, I-"

  He glances down as I start to stand. His eyes widen as he realizes I've pulled his sword from its sheath. The brilliantly gleaming blade lifts high as I bring it up above his head. I'm sure the sunlight streaming in through the window behind me is glinting off the sword in a most breathtaking fashion.

  "I have no need for paladins who can't carry out their orders. Your services are no longer needed, I am afraid."

  My former paladin raises his hands up in a feeble attempt to stop the incoming weapon. It's sharp edge cuts right through his raised limbs and into his neck. With a wet thump his head falls to the floor of the office. I sigh, gesturing for the paladins still standing to clean his corpse. They do so with nary a grimace.

  "How unfortunate it is that I can't seem to get good help... This will displease His Holiness."

  I take my seat behind the wide oaken desk. My eyes slide to the opened letter, marked with the seal of the enclave. His Holiness' correspondence came with firm orders. Apparently, the word of God came to him after I departed. Naturally he decided to send a contingent of Inquisitors to me with an additional force of paladins and priests to handle the logistics.

  One of my newly appointed paladins comes into the room with a bow of his head. I motion for the young man to speak, and he does so with reverence.

  "Your Excellency, we have seized the guild hall."

  "Splendid. Where is the woman leading it, Miss Hawthorne? I trust she is in the city prison?"

  The paladin's face twitches imperceptibly. I click my tongue in annoyance, but don't make a move to punish him like I did the last failure. After all, he didn't turn back out of some pitiful sense of self importance.

  "I am sorry, Your Excellency, but the woman was nowhere to be found. None of her hired guards were at the guild when we arrived. It was nearly deserted, save for a few adventurers we arrested. I apologize for this shameful-"

  I raise my hand to tell him to stop with his unnecessary self scolding. My hand moves to my chin in thought. She must have gotten word of what I have been doing since getting His Holiness' orders. An irritatingly resourceful woman, no doubt.

  "And what of the steward?"

  "We have been interrogating James Benson thoroughly, Your Excellency. He has fessed up about several plans King Geoffrey has in mind. Would you prefer a written or verbal report?"

  "Best keep this unspoken. The walls have ears, you know?"

  The paladin nods in understanding. He bows to me respectfully before taking a piece of parchment and beginning to write out everything he's learned from the steward. Each line makes my brows raise further. Perhaps King Geoffrey won't go down without a fight?

  Ah, no matter, I am sure the enclave has the resources to combat even King Geoffrey.

  The king's authority means very little in the face of an inquisition.