The next day came early as balls, but every day in the Marine Corps started early as balls. Formations. PT. Gear inspections. Battalion runs. Operation prep. And, thanks to the steadfast rule of fifteen prior, everything started about two hours before it was actually supposed to start.

If formation was at 0600, the battalion first sergeant would pass down 0545—fifteen minutes prior—and the company gunny would add his fifteen, 0530, and the company staff sergeant would shave off another fifteen, followed up the platoon sergeant, squad leaders, and all the way down to the fireteam, losing fifteen minutes each go. So a troop movement at 0600 always wound up being a troop movement at 0430—well before the sun had even thought of rising for the day.

It was an infallible law of the Marine Corps, so I knew damned well how to get my tired grumpy ass out of the rack.

I’d slept like a baby—which always struck me as a weird saying, considering how finicky most babies are when it comes to sleep. My buddy, Donavan, had a little rug rat with his missus before our last deployment, and he said the kid woke up screaming every two hours like clockwork. Poor bastard swore Firewatch had nothing on a newborn.

There was a basket with a couple of bread rolls, four thick slices of ham, and an apple outside my door. Beside it was a small jug of eye-wateringly sour ale and another with only water. It seemed like Maggie was hell-bent on taking good care of me, despite the fact that I’d caused a major disturbance in the middle of the night then slammed the door in her face. Maybe the breakfast ale was her way of getting back at me. Hard pass on that one. I ate one roll and stashed the other in my pocket along with the apple then downed the water in one go.

Hydrate or die, as Drill Instructor Screw Y’all always used to say.

My pussy-willow toothbrush had curled at the edges, but I was happy to see there was a fancy newfangled replacement waiting for me next to the wash bin. It was thoroughly medieval and fit for a king. The handle was silver, edged with gold, and inlaid with gemstones, while the brush head was crafted from what felt like bristly horsehair. The fact that the brush itself was likely used wasn’t a comforting thought, but all things considered it was still a helluva lot better than scrubbing my teeth with a twig.

There was no sign of Renholm—he was probably out looting all of Ironmoor—and the rest of the inn was equally quiet, everyone still sleeping off their debauchery from the night before. A thin edge of light was just starting to peek over the horizon, casting the town in the grays and purples of predawn. I was guessing I’d only got three or four hours of sleep at most, but I felt great. Maybe that was my Wolverine Healing Factor at play or maybe I was just excited to get to blow some monsters up with magic today.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood rigid as I left the inn behind.

My gut screamed a warning at me, and I spun half a second before Cal could get the jump on me.

“Hey, you’re getting better,” my best friend said. “That or I’m getting sloppy.”

“Little bit of A, little bit of B is my guess,” I replied. “How’re you feeling this morning? That ward sucker punched you into another world.”

“You ain’t kidding,” he said, scrunching up his nose. “Kicked like a mule to the teeth. My head is still pounding, and I feel like I’m barely holding my shit together.” He glanced at the horizon. “A little worried about what’ll happen once the sun fully comes up. Don’t suppose you have any more of those Affinity Scales you could spare? That last one took the edge off.”

“Yeah.” I pulled another one from the coin pouch. He reached for it, but I paused and held it just out of reach. “Promise you won’t try to eat me if I give this to you? I don’t want to, but I’ll drop kick you in your ghost throat if you get handsy with me.”

“Bro, I would never try to eat you,” he said earnestly. “You’re my best friend, plus you also smell like a literal asshole. I can taste the stench wafting off you, and trust me, nothing about that is remotely appetizing. I’d rather eat a Veggie MRE.”

I snorted and flicked him the scale.

He snagged it from the air and popped it into his mouth. A flash of crimson light washed through his hazy body. This time he didn’t even stumble from the influx of Essence. I stole a sidelong glance at him. He already looked more substantial than he had a moment before. The remaining scars and burns that covered his face and hands had further receded and were now just faint pink memories tattooed against his skin.

“That’s good stuff,” he said, thumping a fist against his chest. “I’ll take a hit of that over a cup of joe any day of the week. How’d things go with the priest?” Cal asked as I navigated through the darkened cityscape with uncanny ease thanks to my new built-in Vigil NVGs. “Did you whoop his ass for bug zapping me?”

“Naw,” I replied, “just a genuine misunderstanding. He seems like an okay guy. A little weird—definitely a true believer type. His brain almost exploded when he realized he’d nuked the spirit guide of a Vigil Bound. Once we got that cleared up, it was smooth sailing.” I filled Cal in on everything else Arturo had shared with me, then told him about my experience inside the Soul Vault and my new deal with Renholm. By the time I was done, we’d made it to the church.

“Think I’m just gonna hang back here,” Cal said, giving the chapel a wide berth. “I don’t need to be deep-fried twice in one day.”

Hard to blame the guy.

I pounded on the chapel door half an hour before sunup.

I’d fully expected my new buddy Arturo to already be up and about, but nothing could’ve been further from the truth. After another round of thumping, the door finally squeaked open, revealing a blurry-eyed padre, his black hair sticking up at odd angles. The buttons on his cassock were wildly askew as though he’d gotten dressed in the dark while half drunk. Taking a good long look at him, I seriously suspected he had gotten dressed in the dark while half drunk.

“Has there been another attack, Vigil?” he asked. “Another death?”

“Naw, nothing like that, padre,” I replied. “You said we would start training tomorrow. It’s tomorrow, and I wanted to get a jump on it.”

“Right. So just to be clear,” he said, sounding extremely disgruntled, “there’s been no attack, and no new murders? You’re just here for training?”

“Yep.”

He tried to shut the door on me, but I quickly wedged my foot in the door before he could close it all the way.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Going back to bed. Look at the sky, man. It’s still dark.” He reached up and rubbed his palms into his eye sockets, massaging away the sleep. “And I was being dramatic,” he said after a beat, dropping his hands. “I meant tomorrow as in tomorrow after a leisurely breakfast. Something a bit more reasonable. Not the crack of dawn. I’m a priest, not a solider. Not anymore, anyway. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I don’t operate on less than eight hours. Plus, I’m still recovering from communing with the spirits.”

“The only spirits you were communing with,” I said, “were Jim, Jack, and Captain Morgan.”

“I’m not familiar with any of these men,” he said, shaking his head. “Were they great warriors from your world?”

“Nope. They’re the names of alcohol. What I’m getting at is that you’re still drunk as a sailor on shore leave.”

H grimaced and dropped his gaze. “Forgiveness, Vigil. It’s one of my many failings. I have trouble sleeping otherwise.”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me,” I said, thinking back to the wall of weapons in his room. Yep, Arturo had definitely seen some shit. I knew the signs of PTSD, and this guy had it in spades. “But your drinking problem can’t interfere with my job. I’ve got monsters to kill and you’re the one who’s supposed to teach me how to do that. Which means I have zero shits to give about how you’re feeling right now. I can’t tell you how many times I ran PT blackout drunk. You might throw up a little, but you won’t die. Now let’s get moving.”

He grunted and nodded. “You’re right, of course, honorable Vigil. I shouldn’t let my own personal failings impact your holy work. Please, come in.” He jerked his head toward the sanctuary. “Let me get proper and then we’ll see to your training.”

“Any chance you can lower the spells around the church so my spirit guide can come in too?”

“Glad to hear he’s back, and yes. I haven’t had a chance to reset the ward, so your guide may accompany you without fear. Please, both of you, be welcome in this place.”

***

Cal and I milled around the chapel hall, waiting for Arturo to get ready.

I stared at the stained-glass windows, which depicted various scenes of battles—sharp-fanged monsters dying here, weapon-wielding men dying there. Beautifully crafted, but not exactly settling artwork.

“I can’t believe you’re really a reincarnated monster hunter,” Cal said, studying the stained glass beside me. “That’s so badass. Hurling fireballs around and blowing shit up with your mind. Although being a spirit guide is pretty great, too. Different for sure, but it’s got its perks. Apparently, as you get more powerful, so will I. I was talking with this crusty old spirit named Elin the Blind—guy’s like a thousand years old—and he told me our fates are tethered by some higher power. Eventually, I might even be able to physically manifest for short bursts of time.”

“I think the Affinity Scales are helping with that,” I said. “You already look ten times better than you did back in the cave. Your scars are almost completely gone and you look… I don’t know, less ghostly I guess. More real.”

“Maybe we could speed things along?” he suggested, absently rubbing at one arm. “You have a ton of those Affinity Scales, right? Just hook me up with a few more and I bet I’ll be practically good as new in no time flat.”

I stared at him for a moment. The way he was standing, rubbing at his arms. Honestly, he looked like an addict jonesing for his next hit. I’d experienced the high from consuming a scale, and I had to imagine it was even more potent on a creature that lived entirely off of Affinity.

“Let’s take it slow,” I said after a moment. “We don’t know when we’re gonna get more, and we’re still not sure what they’ll do to you in the long run. Slow is smooth—”

“Smooth is fast,” he finished. “Fine. I’ll wait, but I don’t like it.”

Eventually, Arturo shambled out of the back and this time he came bearing gifts—a pile of gear cradled against his belly. He spotted Cal and dropped the equipment onto the floor, falling over himself in a rush to apologize. According to Renholm, normal humans couldn’t see things that hailed from the Etheric Realm, which meant that the padre was definitely more than he seemed. He wasn’t a Vigil, that much was clear, but he had some sort of power set of his own, and I needed to find out what his abilities included.

“Honored Specter,” the priest said, bending almost double, “I apologize for lashing out at you last night. You and the Vigil came upon me unexpectedly—”

“That’s what she said,” Cal interrupted with a snort.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Arturo replied, faltering. “Who is this she you speak of? Is this some sort of wisdom from the higher gods?”

“Ignore him,” I replied. “My friend was just telling a shitty joke.”

“It wasn’t a shitty joke, it was a hilarious joke, but I can see how it might not translate well. Cultural differences and all. Anyway, don’t sweat the attempted murder thing,” Cal said. “Boyd already filled me in on what happened. Everyone’s entitled to make an honest mistake. I’m not dead, so no harm no foul.” He frowned. “Well, I mean, I am dead, but not like dead dead.”

“Most gracious of you,” Arturo said. “I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

“Cool, we can let our bygones be bygones,” I said. “Now what’s all this?” I gestured toward the pile of stuff splayed out on the floor.

“Right. The gear.” Arturo squatted down and spread out the items. Leather bracers and greaves, a thin arming doublet, and black brigandine armor—the interior covered in brass rivets, the exterior lined with oblong metal plates.

“It’s not much,” he said, standing. “Had it left over from a funeral a year back or so. A messy bit of a business with an amateur Mortka hunter who fancied playing Vigil against a Baneclaw. The armor didn’t save him, but hopefully it will serve you better. And, if I’m being honest, you’ll need at least a little protection for what I have in store for us today.” A dangerous, conniving light glinted in his eyes.

I didn’t like the mischievousness in his voice, but I was pumped to get moving, so I thanked him for the offering. There were holes in the doublet, presumably where the Baneclaw—whatever that was—had bitten or slashed at the moron who’d tried to kill it, but even with the damage it still added a nice extra layer of padding. The bracers and greaves weren’t anything fancy, but they were serviceable. The brigandine armor was in surprisingly good shape and was much better quality than the leather armor I’d taken off the Crave Ghouls.

>>

Basic Brigandine Armor

Type: Medium, Scaled Mail

Class: Disciple

This basic coat of plates is constructed of heavy canvas and leather, then layered with external metal disks, offering superior protection against slicing and piercing weapons such as swords or claws. Heavier than simple leather armor, but lighter than full plate mail, brigandine armor offers good movement with decent protection. It is often favored by archers or lower-class men-at-arms since it is cheap and easy to fix on the road without the aid of an armorer or blacksmith.

>>

“Before we go, perhaps take a quick trip to the Soul Vault?” Arturo said as I finished slipping the armor on.

“For?” I asked, hands fumbling with the straps and buckles. I had everything I needed, and now it was time to get our asses in gear. I had years of training to catch up on.

He plucked an odd silver coin about the size of a button from his cassock pocket. “Unless I was seriously duped, this is an Arcanum Token. They come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. Could be anything, really. Scissors. A bolt of cloth. A dagger. The vessel isn’t so important, but the power they contain is.” He flipped it to me, and I snagged it from the air. I instantly felt the slight buzz of power radiating out from the coin like a nine-volt pressed against my tongue.

“Those little trinkets are items of faith,” he continued, “invested with a small glimmer of the gods above or the devils below. Some are holy, others infernal, one and all contain the essence of something beyond this world. Some people keep them for good luck or divine fortune, but only warlocks, sorcerers, monsters, and Vigils have any real purpose for them. Legend says they can be used to enhance weapons or armor.”

I turned the coin over in my hand. There was a phoenix surrounded by flames on the back.

Arturo dipped his hand into the holy water in the font and used it to smooth his hair down. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on then, give it a try.”

I grunted, touched the altar, and returned to the Soul Vault in a blink. It was just as cool as the first time I’d popped in. To think that all this belonged to me. It was more than a little surreal, and there was so much for me to explore and discover yet.

Ratty old gear in hand, I head over to the mannequin room. The central statue was wearing the items Arturo had just given me, but this new version lacked all the dings and holes and tears. I held my hand up and searched for any story the new armor might have stitched into its seams, but instead of pulling up an item description box, I inadvertently activated a notice about the mannequins themselves.

>>

Armor Display Statuary

The monsters and horrors a Vigil must confront through the course of their duties varies wildly, and often the difference between victory and a painful death is the armor they wear. Some creatures hit hard—requiring the protection of heavy plate—while others are fast and nimble, requiring lighter gear to keep up. Custom Armor Sets can also be enchanted by applying Arcanum Tokens, which offer a legion of useful effects, ranging from powerful magical resistances to potent ability buffs. By unlocking the Arcane Evocation Skill from the Justice Ward, a Vigil can instantly swap between up to four designated Armor Sets at will, even when away from the Soul Vault. This gives them unmatched versatility when in the field.

>>

Now that was a skill I wanted to have tucked away in my back pocket. Arcane Evocation only cost five Ward Points, and with it I’d be able to build out some epic armor kits for just about any circumstance I might run up against. Need to be sneaky and light on your feet? Boom, dark leather armor that wouldn’t clank and clatter with every step I took. Squaring off against an overgrown ogre? Check. Wicked plate mail that could absorb a ton of punishment. Being able to enchant and customize my gear was also a potential game changer.

The coin Arturo had given me burned in my palm, willing me to spend it.

I glanced back at the mannequin wearing my new gear and noticed for the first time that a series of slots hovered over the figurine like ghostly circles. Five of them per mannequin. I eyeballed the coin then shrugged and jammed it into one of the free spaces. Immediately another new pop-up appeared.

>>

Illiud’s Faith

Token Type: Armor Inset, Blessed

Rarity: Adept

Blessed Faith Token of Illiud the Framer. Carried with the old man for years, his faith in the gods has rubbed off on this small trinket. Because of his piousness in life, Rethar, Lesser Goddess of the Fields, blessed this item with resistance against disease and famine. Perfect for helping to ensure a good crop yield—or a valuable aid in a fight against those unholy creatures who wield disease as a weapon.

Effect 1: Gain 6% additional resistance against disease and famine!

>>

Would you like to add the Arcanum Token, Illiud’s Faith, to your current gear set? Arcanum Tokens can be swapped out at any time within the Soul Vault, but only five armor Tokens may be in effect at a given time. Note: An additional two Tokens can be used in conjunction with Soul Bound Weapons.

>>

Since there didn’t seem to be any downside, I accepted. A shiver of power raced along my spine as the Arcanum Token bonded with my gear. And, just like that, my new armor was now infused with Illiud’s Faith and I had six percent resistance against disease and famine.

Every time I came into this place, there was something new and awesome to discover. But as much as I wanted to cool my heels all day exploring the nooks, crannies, and features the Soul Vault had to offer, I had places to be and things to do. Mission first. Always. I added my old leather armor to one of the unused mannequins in the back row, then withdrew my mind from the Vault and found myself back in the church, wobbling on uncertain feet.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you just vanishing like that,” Arturo said, shaking his head.

“You or me either,” I replied. “Now let’s do the damned thing.”

Arturo trotted to his chamber, retrieved provisions wrapped in a cloth and his club-headed staff, then headed for the door. “Rations,” he said, patting the bundle. “Food and clean water.”

Laced up and ready to rock and roll, we saw ourselves out of the chapel and left town through the main gate, nodding goodbye to the guards on the way out.