By the time Alric had returned to the village upon his horse, the sky was dark purple. The little sunlight that remained was fleeting, and Alric could see only light peeking out from the windows of a handful of houses. He fastened Nocht's reins at the post before the inn once again, and glanced toward Guld's home. There was no sign of wood fire escaping through the window, so Alric assumed that the man would be at the inn house.

As he mounted the steps, feeling his breast ache from when he dove upon the skeinar, he heard a racket from within. The sound of loud voices laughing and swearing.

Alric pressed open the door and came across a collective of dirtied individuals spread about the place. Gren rushed around, tending to their needs with a fearful spark in her eye. Guld was seated in the far corner with his hands tightly clasping the shoulders of the two children.

One of the men's attention was seized by Alric's entrance. His face was battered, scratched, and discoloured. "Oi...lookit this, then." he declared.

Each of his compatriots slowly turned to Alric, who stood in place at the doorway.

"Fuck me, it's a honest to fuck knight!"

"Ha, lookit 'im. Silly lookin' cunt, ain't ‘e?"

The rabble burst into laughter.

Alric ignored the comments and paced his way to Guld, whose eyes avoided the knight's gaze in shame. The knight settled into the master's table as the strange visitors began roaring once again.

"How went the search, Brother Alric?" Guld asked hesitantly.

Noticing the interest of the children in his helmet, he removed it and handed it to them. They both snatched the helm at once, tugging and struggling over it like rats for cheese. Guld swallowed. "Brother...is it not void of the Second Attestation to remove your arms before reciting the prayer?"

"My helm is but one of my many pieces of equipment." With the children occupied, Alric then returned to the old master's initial inquiry. He said quietly, to save the children the frightening details, "I encountered a pack of scavengers by the old shrine."

Alric saw the soul freeze from within Guld's eyes. "By the heavens... Here?"

"Worry not. They fled, for their skeinar lies dying in a pool of its own blood."

Jin erupted into unfiltered bewilderment. "You killded a scav?! Me mother said that men can't killded scavs, she said!"

"Hush, child." Guld scalded.

"It is quite alright, master." Alric said to Guld on an aside. The knight then crossed his arms onto the table and responded to young Jin with a hint of wonder in his voice, "Perhaps the scavengers believe that tale too. It is all so surprising for them to be struck that they are confounded...lacking the nerve to protect themselves."

Ayla clapped. "That's fantastic! When I grow up, I wanna be a knight, I do!"

"Ya can't be a knight sissy, you're a girl!" Jin snapped. The pair then returned to waging war for Alric's helm.

Guld shook his head in disbelief, then refocused onto the immediate issue. "What...what of the missing?"

Alric lowered his voice and leant in closer to Guld. "I found...remains. They must be identified. There was also evidence that the pair may have fled before the scavengers arrived."

The old man's eyes fell to the children. Alric could feel his sorrow for them. He assumed the worst, as did Alric. The world was a cruel place, and people died all too often. Children especially. These two, Alric felt, were lucky enough to be alive themselves. He wasn't sure if he should speak of their mother's likely part in blasphemous teachings in front of them. Alric decided to leave that discussion with Guld for later.

"I understand. Best we tend to them before the animals do. Perhaps in a moment. I would not like Gren to be alone with such...company."

A shattering mug ripped Alric's attention from Guld. He peered over his shoulder as more cackling laughter bounced from the four walls of the inn. Gren, without hesitation, knelt onto the ground and began cleaning up the shards.

Alric mused, "Who are these folk?"

"Ruffians. They come every season to take from us."

One of these ruffians noticed Alric's judgemental gaze. She cocked her head and, due to her current drunken state, yelled, "Oi, ya wanna fuck me!? C'mon, me cunt's gaggin' for it!"

Her friends voiced their approval in a grand series of earth-shaking howls. Alric, tightening his jaw, simply turned back to the table.

"These are no things you need hear, children,” the knight huffed.

Guld sighed. "You left civilised men long ago. It is not anything they have not already heard."

With an angered grunt of acknowledgement, Alric looked back at Gren. She gathered the fragments of the shattered clay vessel, set them on a nearby table, then bent back down to scrub the mead from the floorboard. All the while, the woman bandit that caused the ruckus those minutes before, groggily stood from her seat and walked over to the barmaid. "Lookit that fuckin' arse. What a good fuckin' arse," She murmured.

The lowlife slapped the subject of her words. Gren gasped in embarrassment as the ruffians whistled excitedly. The innkeep pushed upward and glared at the woman. "Ya coont! Fook off, will ya!? I ain't no fookin' whore!"

"Well ya dress like a whore, got ya fuckin' tits hangin' out." The woman snapped back.

As blindingly fast as a bolt of lightning, Gren's fist collided with the woman's cheek, sending her reeling backwards. Each of the ruffian's compatriots pushed out of the chairs in which they sat, as did Alric, who paced over to Gren urgently.

"For fuck's sake!! Ya fuckin' cunt!"

The knight grasped Gren by the shoulder, who clearly wanted to tackle the woman to the floor and brutalise her, but Alric's gesture gave her pause. As the woman glared embers at Gren, Alric spoke sternly, "'Tis time thou took leave. Go. Back to whence thou came."

"Tha fuck you say ta me? Didn't understand a fuckin' word." She turned back to Gren and resumed her dribble. "I'm gonna tear that fuckin' dress off ya and make me horse fuck ya 'til ya die!" The ruffian growled. Before she could lunge forward, a few of her friends held her back by the arms.

"I say to thee, begone! Thy presence be welcome no longer," Alric pressed as he rested his hand upon the pommel of his sheathed sword.

One of the lowlifes laughed, "Siddown, Hilda. I'll gut this whoreson of a knight for ya. Ya can have yer fun with the slut then give us all a go, aye?"

This man stepped forward, iron shortsword on belt and hands fastened on the sheath and hilt. Alric could tell that the fellow was not formally trained, but he moved with a kind of confidence that the others did not possess. He seemed as if he learned the sword not by way of professional tutelage as Alric had, but by way of extensive use and personal experience. One half of his blue face was scarred black as if he had been seared alive on that side. As he approached, he thuggishly kicked the tables out of his way to clear space for the coming duel.

There would be no talking these deviant extortionists into leaving. He proposed that in slaying this, their finest swordsman, the others would be intimidated, much like the valhnid. The one reason he even considered fighting an enemy that outnumbered him was that he could smell the ale on their breaths. Otherwise, it would have been suicide. Five peasants who attacked simultaneously could easily best a knight, despite the fact that he was trained to kill since childhood.

The knight brandished his own folded-steel longsword and raised it high in a defensive stance. He knew that God's hatred was absolute and that he had sworn to be an instrument of that rage whenever it was required of him.

The ruffian brutishly tugged his weapon from its sheath and struck out without strategy, playing into Alric's hand. The knight angled his sword and throttled it forward, parrying the slash. His feet followed through with his motions, and he swung the pommel of his sword into the ruffian's nose.

A 'crack' filled the interior of the tavern as the man swore and Alric pressed the advantage, swinging his sword across his opponent's neck. It drew cleanly through the first few inches of his throat with its razor sharp edge, spilling dark midnight blood over the man's clothes. He gagged, reaching for his neck. His blade fell to the floor, bounced thrice, then rumbled there upon the wooden flooring.

Desperately clawing for his neck, the ruffian collapsed in the puddle of his own blood as his friends watched in silence.

"N-No...! Phillip! You killed Phillip!" one of the men muttered as he stepped forward. He pulled a rough iron axe out of his belt, his arms trembling.

Guld proudly called, "Put the axe down, you foolish boy! Here stands one of the Knights Thestor; a man who has slain thousands of infidels!"

It seemed that Guld's advice went unheard as the two others, a man and the drunkard woman joined the axe-wielder. One drew a dagger, the other a shortsword.

Alric slowly strafed around his new foes to his left, kicking aside the remaining furniture. The lowlives had the glow of fear in their eyes, jolting at every sound and motion.

The creaking of wooden boards, the shifting clanks of Alric's plate armour, and ragged breaths were the only sounds to be heard. Alric altered his stance to a half-sword, gripping his longsword by its handle with his right hand, and by the centre of its blade with his left. The ruffians, having never formally learned how to handle a longsword, were confused by this odd grip. It would allow for greater stabbing control and benefit Alric in such cramped spaces against foes with smaller, easier to handle weapons.

After what felt like an eternity, the axeman charged forth. With two hands holding his sword horizontally, Alric was in a much better position to block and parry incoming blows. He raised his blade and it caught the axe by its curved edge. As this happened, the woman circled around Alric and landed a strike on his back, which did nothing thanks to his plate armour. Alric then wrenched, deflecting the weapon of the first attacker and sending it off track. As its wielder stumbled to the side, Alric quickly and accurately thrusted the tip of his sword into the man's back.

Just as the woman holding the shortsword came towards him once more, Alric pulled his blade out and kicked the stabbed man over. She made a mad swing at Alric's chest, which he let come through. Much like the preceding strike, the sword slapped harmlessly against the plate armour, and with its wielder recovering from the swing, created an opening for Alric. He rammed his sword deep into the woman's gut, wrenched it, then quickly retracted it.

She fell over screaming, and the final combatant roared towards Alric, tears welling in his eyes. He respected his honour, but aimed for their exposed neck as they charged forth. The knight's longsword tore into the man's throat and scraped against his spine. Alric drove it deeper and deeper, listening to the pathetic criminal's dying gasps all the while.

When he once again yanked his sword free, the body dropped to the ground like a dead weight.

Alric clutched his surcoat, once white but now stained grey, and wiped his sword clean of blood. None died instantly, instead all suffered in pain as they writhed and screamed on the cold floor before eventually succumbing to their fatal wounds.

"Damned fools. You gave them a sure chance to flee." Guld murmured.

Alric then turned to the children. They had been watching intently. There was no telling whether their mother, Sara, had spread filthy heretical lies to their ears...so he felt it prudent to ensure their faith. The knight said to them, "Thou see now the end that awaits those who sin? Praise God and thou shan't follow."

Ayla and Jin were frozen. Alric couldn't tell if it was fear or awe that seized their very souls, but it pained him not that they needed to watch as he, with death on his side, took those men. They were shivering as Guld warmly embraced them. "Come now little ones...it is time for bed."

The knight insisted that he alone handle the corpses, that it was not the manner of work that an elderly man or young woman should be engaged in. Guld saw the children to bed, whilst Gren cleaned the mess left behind by the short encounter. The blood pooled immensely around the bodies but hadn't time to stain the flooring before Gren scrubbed it away, grateful that she no longer had to bow to the wishes of the ruffian gang. With the tavern clear of any pieces of waste, Alric rode with the bodies in his cart to a clearing a decent way from the town to dig a single shallow grave and dumped all four corpses in.

Pitch black darkness had settled among the fields at this point. Alric carried a simple lantern with him, the only thing allowing his mere mortal eyes to perceive anything. When he dug the pit, he tied the lantern to his hip as to free his hands for the toil. It was always difficult engaging in such focused work while being completely unable to see more than several steps away. There were always noises, rustlings in the darkness. Alric had forced himself to ignore them in his time; there was no way to truly know what their origin was unless a beast or assassin pounced upon him, so it was best to pay it no second thought. An hour or so had passed by the time Alric patted the dirt down with his shovel, covering the bandit bodies completely.

He stuck the shovel into the dirt, clasped his hands together, and muttered a prayer. "And so, the souls of the fallen are cast into the dirt. If they be faithful servants of the Lord, grant them passage into the heavens. If they see not God's truth, let their souls endure eternal torment."

Wearily, the man strode over to his mount, stowed the shovel into his cart, then heaved himself onto the animal. Alric brandished his lantern with one hand and the reins with the other. He spurred his companion onward, and she began a casual trot towards the black forest.

Guld wished to tend to the village's dead who still laid in the forest clearing before they were taken to by wolves or perhaps more scavengers...but Alric knew that there were worse things out there. He urged Nocht to dive into the black trees once more, and simply followed the beams of light radiating from a torch in the distance, partially masked by the wood. The travelling compatriots came unto the heretic congregation and spied both Guld and Ulvor, the woodsman, standing within the clearing.

The town master looked upon the faces of the valhnid victims, the bodies of whom had been cut free from the sac and lined up neatly for the old man to identify. There was a small boy, a fair young woman, an older fellow with a stature that told Alric he could afford lavish meals everyday, a sickly thin old woman, a young man dressed in hunting furs, and another younger man in the garments of a bard.

Ulvor was tending to a survivor...the crazed heretic that Alric had left for dead. With great terror permeating his movements, the survivor avoided eye contact with Alric. Meanwhile, Ulvor glared at Alric as he dismounted. "You said nothin' about findin' Kent out 'ere. You left 'im, didn't you?"

"He speaks of the Father as a false diety. Such blasphemy is not tolerated by the Church; he best thank me for not dispatching him where he lay," Alric explained.

Ulvor was not pleased by the knight's remark, evident by how he snapped back, "He's been trapped 'ere for nigh on a day. Starved. Dyin'. And you condemn him for his faith?"

With a shake of his helmeted head, Alric retorted, "I have struck men down for their faith in the past and shall gleefully do so again. However, the belief that men are spawn of the Devil is not faith. That is evil."

Guld promptly slid between the two feuding men, palms outstretched toward each of them. "Please!"

The woodsman huffed and turned his back on Alric, returning to the survivor to help him to a seated position atop a stump.

"Your son is still out there," Guld said to Ulvor. "As is Sara. They must be found."

Ulvor removed a stick of dried meat from his knapsack and steadily fed it to the sole survivor as he asked, "Any among the dead that you know?"

The old leader nodded. "Zaen, Hugo, and Jill are here."

Alric stood patiently as the two friends continued their conversation. He had no place in it. It was a sensitive time.

Ulvor grunted. "God. I jus' saw Hugo yesterday... Who are the others?"

The man's blasphemy did nothing to quell Alric's dislike of him.

"They are from Hollenfield, I have no doubt. Perhaps Kent may recognise them," Guld said.

Alric trod over to the fallen dark totem and knelt before it. He was starting to think that he was too unforgiving on the simple townsfolk. Perhaps a wolf in sheep's clothing had deceived them with a silver tongue. Perhaps they were led astray by a false prophet.

"False teachings led these folk to their deaths," Alric started.

The woodsman finally burst at the seams. "Enough! Ya Church bastards are all tha same! Can't stomach tha fact that people ain't as easy ta wrangle as sheep, eh?! These people were butchered, ain't nothin' ta do with their beliefs!"

The knight scooped up the totem, and pressed to his feet. "My apologies, there appears to be a misunderstanding. Ask Kent. Ask him about the ritual sacrifice."

Ulvor's fiery eyes cooled and fixed themselves on Kent. The survivor's eyes flickered as he munched upon the dried meat feverishly.

"What use is faith, woodsman, if it is a thing to be ashamed of? Speak. Be as proud of thy so-called 'faith' as I am mine," Alric pressed harshly.

Kent's chewing slowed, but it still muffled his speech. "It...it was meant to be grand. But the scavengers...they just killed everyone."

His eyes lingered on the still writhing skeinar a few dozen paces away. Ulvor's face paled as he followed his acquaintance's gaze; Alric supposed he hadn't noticed the thing until just now.

"He said they were going to remake us...that since we are not truly alive, the Devil will reforge us painlessly." Kent's voice wavered and collapsed. "B-But I watched them die. We are alive...because I watched people scream and beg for their lives like helpless children. The dead do not beg..."

Ulvor took several steps away from the man. "You lot...ya called tha scavs 'ere. Tha church knight ain't spinnin' lies."

"H-Havar is still alive. I told the knight. He a-and Sara...a bunch managed to run. Maybe towards Hollenfield."

Alric's eyes pulsated. "Where would they seek to go from there?"

Kent eagerly nodded. "The secret place. There's a whole temple full of them. Some of the folk who ran know where it is...if you take me, I can point them out to you."

Guld shook his head tenderly. "You are in no shape to travel, boy."

Alric cared not about Kent's physical condition and neither did Ulvor from what the knight's senses told him. They both had a common goal; find the nest of apostates.