Samuel was speechless.
He had suffered a tremendous blow. This suspicious woman had uttered the true name of the Divine Staff, yet he, as one of Saros' chosen, knew nothing of it. His status as a chosen one allowed Samuel to sense the Divine Staff—the Staff of the Blazing Sun—responding to him. That sensation could never be mistaken; it left him no chance for self-deception.
Then were the names of the Moon Goddess and Star Goddess also true? Did they truly possess names, ones Samuel had never known?
Wait—could it be...?
Samuel lifted his head hopefully. "Are you also a priest of Saro?"
He gazed intently at the upper half of the mask, seeking eye contact beneath the hood's shadow, but that section seemed bound in cloth, making him wonder if the masked woman could even see outside. She nodded to Aaron, who bowed and turned away. She faced Samuel, shook her head at his question, and replied, "I merely inherited an estate from centuries past."
"You must be a veritable fountain of knowledge," Samuel complimented, still suspecting she might be a senior member of the Saros cult who simply couldn't reveal her identity.
"A 'fountain of knowledge'? Far from it," the woman smiled again. "The knowledge you've inherited has worn away over the long ages—even the name of the Divine Staff has been lost; mine, however, ends abruptly. Events from centuries past remain vividly preserved, yet the last few hundred years are a blank void. For instance, I have no idea why humans would turn such an evil weapon against their own kind, even if it meant killing a thousand enemies at the cost of eight hundred of their own." She gestured toward the direction Aaron had departed. "Is it simply because these people live in the forest?"
"There must be some misunderstanding," Samuel insisted. "Lady, this is an abandoned dungeon..."
"This is the legacy I inherited. Without it, I couldn't shelter these poor souls attacked for no fault of their own," the woman replied.
"Uh, I'm terribly sorry," Samuel said awkwardly. Pastor Saro's expansive sense of responsibility always made him feel humanity's problems were his own. "Perhaps some misdirected their targets, seeking something far more dangerous... I've seen orcs!"
At this point, Samuel grew serious again. He had spotted that dangerous beastman prowling here several times, never appearing alongside others. Now he realized they likely didn't even know of her existence! The underground space was vast, with crisscrossing passages and many unlit areas. Legend claimed many beastmen possessed night vision. Could she be a beastman scout hiding within these caverns? Perhaps these ordinary people who'd come to hide underground were unknowingly sharing the same space with a beastman!
"Truly, please believe me!" he pleaded earnestly. "This isn't some deformed creature with furry limbs from the dungeons. I've seen that beastman several times. She's incredibly sharp—on multiple occasions, she nearly spotted me. I am one of Saroth's chosen. The gods granted me the power to see evil and sense danger. That beast has undoubtedly slaughtered countless souls, and she's still so young! If a horde of beasts like her dwells nearby, any sane person would seek to ensure their safety—just as everyone destroys a hornet's nest before it forms."
"You mean her?" the woman said, her tone flat.
Samuel whipped around and nearly jumped out of his skin. The brown-skinned, white-haired female beastman stood just two paces away, her emerald eyes fixed silently on him, sending goosebumps crawling up his spine to the back of his neck. This wasn't the cold stare from before—it was worse. A rage laced with murderous intent burned in her eyes, her piercing gaze lingering near Samuel's throat as if poised to act on the impulse to kill at any moment.
Samuel halted his retreat with the stubborn pride of a Sarran citizen, merely shifting his stance to face the orc assassin bravely—you simply couldn't expose your back to a hungry beast.
"Meet Marion," the masked woman said. "Her family was slaughtered without reason. Now she lives alone in my dungeon, like the other displaced ones."
"That's not a person!" Samuel retorted immediately.
"To me, it's the same." "Innocent, unfortunate, and with nowhere else to go. They seek shelter, and I provide it."
"How can it be the same?" Samuel momentarily forgot his fear, pointing angrily at the beast. "This is a beast! Its ancestors' hands are stained with human blood! How many innocents, how many martyrs have fallen beneath the slaughtering blades of these beasts! Have you forgotten? The Orcish Plague ended barely two centuries ago. Their evil brought suffering upon all of Erian. Does putting on a harmless act now erase that hatred and dark history?"
The priest jerked his hand back as the beast let out a low growl, baring canine teeth at him as if eager to bite off his fingers. White fur even sprouted where its face met its hair! The masked woman placed a hand on its shoulder. Without much force, it was as if she'd pulled an invisible rein, pinning the beast back into place.
"There must be some misunderstanding," the woman said. Only later did Samuel realize she was echoing his own words. "It's like the once-devout Saroth faith now rests solely on your shoulders," she remarked casually. "There must be some unseen misunderstanding at play."
That last sentence deflated Samuel, draining him of any energy to denounce her as a heretic. He merely muttered, "It must be the demons' scheme. They lurk within the upper echelons of Erian."
"Then our goals may overlap," the masked woman said. "We are both victims of these conspiracies, unable to tolerate such evil curses tormenting the unfortunate."
Samuel snapped his head up. The original reason for his exploration suddenly returned to him, filling him with profound shame: he had forgotten these suffering souls! "Father, were those soldiers transferred by you?" the priest hurriedly asked.
"I need to uncover why they recovered without treatment," the woman nodded. "I must understand why the curse 'disappeared' on its own, lest I remain powerless when encountering the next victim of its torment."
This responsible statement earned her Samuel's renewed respect. He nodded solemnly and said, "Of course I will heal them. It is my duty!"
"And after that?" the woman suddenly asked.
Samuel was momentarily stunned by the question, unsure how to respond. She didn't wait long before adding, "Have you considered doing more? As a follower of Saro, you speak of restoring His glory to the earth, yet in present-day Erian, scarcely anyone knows His name. You stand alone."
She hit the nail on the head. Samuel had stepped forward to battle evil—to fight for justice, to spread Saro's teachings, to radiate His glory. Fighting evil was no simple task, yet his current mission was clear: banish curses and uncover underground conspiracies. But what could Samuel accomplish beyond that? He was at a loss, for he stood alone. Even though all three sacred artifacts acknowledged his status as the chosen one, he couldn't persuade a single soldier.
"You're right," Samuel said, his head bowed in dejection.
"Then perhaps we can help each other," the woman said.
"How could you possibly help me?" the pastor shook his head with a bitter smile. "Even if you allowed me to preach in your underground city, even if everyone here became followers of Saro, the future where 'glory spreads across the land' remains as distant as a chasm."
"I can offer opportunities for multilateral cooperation," the woman replied. "Captain Halit is a reasonable man. To protect his soldiers, he chose to work with me—did you know Staghorn Town and Red Gum County have been sealed off by the north? Those people fear the curse spreading to them. They'd rather erect high walls than care about the lives of everyone here."
"How could they do such a thing!" Samuel exclaimed in shock.
"Yes, it's wicked. There must be demons among them," the woman agreed, riding the wave. "Since the southeast corner of Erian has been forgotten, and the Captain, Mayor, and County Chief are so kind-hearted, with my recommendation, I'm sure the people on the surface won't mind who's beside them or what they say."
Her description stirred something within Samuel. He imagined himself standing on the earth, bathed in sunlight, among the people, proclaiming aloud the name of Saroth. The name of the Sun, Light, and Justice God should never be hidden! If only those detestable conspirators and foolish lackeys didn't stand between the servant of the God and the people! If only the good could open this land to the faithful! The misguided good souls would surely rush to embrace Saros's embrace. His place would become a God-blessed land, the gates of Heaven opening here... ...
Samuel drifted in this beautiful fantasy until he suddenly caught sight of the beastman's sullen face.
"Wait," he said uncertainly, "do you mean all 'people' can live freely here? Certainly excluding certain inhuman, evil creatures?"
"I use 'people' for convenience," the masked woman said. "Marion will be here too."
"But it's an orc!" Samuel emphasized.
"We've discussed this. You should say 'she,'" the woman said calmly, her hand still resting on the orc's shoulder. "Orcs are natives of the Material Plane, just like you. Reverend, you've spoken of fighting evil, and I agree with that. But where did you get the idea that Marion is evil?"
"It's obvious!" Samuel retorted immediately. He wanted to say his own eyes had seen it, yet the beastman carried none of the malevolent aura one might associate with a curse. True, blood stained its hands, but Captain Harriet bore the scent of blood too—hardly conclusive evidence. Saroth's chosen must be utterly honest and trustworthy. Samuel hesitated, then repeated only: It... she is a beast!"
"You're judging by appearances," the woman pointed out.
"I never judge a person's character by their looks!" Samuel flared at the unwarranted accusation. "Only their actions prove who they are, but beasts aren't human. They are born evil—that cruel history has proven it! If you insist on extending protection to such dangerous creatures, I refuse to serve you. I refuse to associate with beasts!"
He heard a low growl rumble in her throat as the beast-woman glared at him fiercely. He stared back, unflinching. The masked woman sighed, patted the beast-woman's shoulder, and withdrew her hand.
"Do you think I'm evil?" she suddenly asked Samuel.
"You? You shelter these displaced people, treat misguided soldiers kindly even after being misunderstood—you are certainly righteous," Samuel replied. "Just a bit too trusting..."
The woman removed her hood.
Samuel's voice trailed off. His mouth hung open dumbly, his throat dry as if salt had been poured in, sucking away his voice. Beneath the hood was nothing but a beast's skull, seamless and complete, revealing no hair beneath the mask. His gaze followed the bone-white "mask" downward. Beneath the bone was not a neck, but a spine stripped of flesh. The woman pulled away the cloth strips covering her eyes, and now Samuel understood why she had concealed them. As the strips were removed, a deep crimson glow flared within the hollow eye sockets, like two small lamps being lit.
It wasn't a mask at all. It was this lady's head.
"You know nothing about many things," Aaron will lead you to the soldiers. Of course, you may refuse to heal them if you feel offended—no matter. It merely reveals the nature of Pastor Saro. As for demanding I expel the residents who preceded you as a condition?"
The dungeon's mistress chuckled softly. "You are far from qualified to make such demands."
She nodded and turned to leave.
The orc's expression softened immediately after these words, no longer fierce but hardly friendly either. The orc named Marion looked at the priest, extended her thumb, and drew a vicious horizontal line across her throat in a decapitation gesture. After this, she flashed a toothy grin (far too many teeth for a mere smile) and hurried to catch up with the woman.
...
"You failed," Victor declared triumphantly.
He sounded genuinely pleased, suggesting that beyond seizing every opportunity to mock Tasha, he genuinely despised the Sarran priest this time. He refrained from adding, "Aren't you afraid he won't heal those people?" The former demon had complete faith in his adversary's integrity.
Tasha could discern the Salarian priest's character from observation: a naive young man steadfastly clinging to his sense of justice, inflexible and unyielding. His abilities didn't match the weight of responsibility and power he bore. He was hard to persuade but not difficult to deal with—like a diamond, hard yet fragile.
So she simply said, "No rush."
No rush. For now, they were only eager to exploit the priest's curse-removal abilities. Even if she misjudged him and he refused treatment as leverage, they could always activate the Captain's connection to play the hardball role. Tasha coveted the power of the natural-born Holy Child, anticipating new skills or structures after binding a contract with him. But that wasn't urgent.
The Holy Son resided on her territory, so destitute he relied entirely on her to have the Captain provide relief. Alone, a commander with no troops, possessing three divine artifacts and the title of Holy Son yet forbidden to utter the name of his faith on the surface... The Celestial Holy Son's plight was truly pitiful. Tasha had patience to spare; she wasn't the one in a hurry here.
"He's lying!"
Tasha turned her head to see Marion frowning deeply. They had already turned down a corridor, and the werewolf girl's expression suggested she'd been holding back for quite some time before finally blurting it out.
"You did well," Tasha said, her pace unbroken as she reached out to link arms with Marion walking beside her. Marion gave a startled "Huh?" at the unexpected praise, feeling a flicker of nervousness.
"You didn't lose control on the spot," Tasha continued. "You didn't bite him or shift into a wolf. Your control over your transformation has improved significantly."
The "Call of the Wild" skill description in her abilities was spot on. Since her bloodline had been purified, Marion had become more direct and combative, encountering some issues with both emotional and physical control. She was prone to transforming into a wolf when agitated, much like someone with suddenly increased strength might crush a glass cup. That was undoubtedly a waste of energy, and Marion's recent training focused not only on combat but also on self-control.
"Because he's still useful to you," Marion murmured. "Even though he's genuinely annoying."
Her solemn expression visibly softened, just as it did whenever Tasha praised her. Marion adopted that look of "trying not to seem too pleased," ears pricked, lips pressed together—if she had a tail, it would surely be wagging vigorously. Tasha felt the girl's shoulders relax beneath her palm. Certain aspects of this girl did resemble canine traits—like her fondness for physical contact and her love of praise. Seeing her expression, Tasha doubted Marion even remembered what she'd been about to say.
"Ah! That man lied!" Marion exclaimed, as if suddenly awakening.
So she did remember.
"He said the orcs attacked human kingdoms to seize human lands and wealth, to devour the people! That's not true!" Marion declared indignantly. "That war was clearly started by humans! They organized armies to raid orc homelands for the treasures left by the Beast God. If anyone's evil, it's them!"
Pastor Saro was sneaking around the dungeon, and Tasha needed him to see harmless areas to lower his guard, while keeping other sections off-limits. The dungeon's autonomous activity or goblin construction sites clearly weren't good places to block him, so Tasha shared some of her perception with Marion, allowing her to intercept the wandering pastor at the right spots.
Through this shared perception, Marion overheard the priest's earlier remarks about the orc war.
"Saroth's doctrine forbids lies. He is still a priest," Tashar stated.
"He must be a hypocritical false priest," Marion retorted defiantly.
"If a Natural-Born Son violates the doctrine, he loses the power to wield Saros's artifacts," Tashar explained. "He merely spoke what he believed to be the truth."
Without being asked, Victor had already lectured Tashar on the deeds of Saros's followers the moment he spotted the priest—or more accurately, on their absurd regulations and scandalous secrets. The former demon proved more dedicated than any troll. Like high-ranking Saros clergy, the Chosen Son possessed divine-granted powers and was bound by numerous precepts. Should he violate doctrine, his divine strength would be revoked.
At this point, Victor let out a cold laugh. "Determining doctrinal violations follows the same logic as demonic contracts," he said. "As long as they don't believe they've done wrong, they haven't done wrong."
If this Holy Son had been raised with such teachings, genuinely believing the truth imparted by his mentors—even if that "truth" diverged from reality—he would face no punishment.
"Then he was deceived," Marion stated. "Everything he said is false."
"Not everything he said is true, but how can you be certain it's all lies?" Tasha asked.
"Because what he said is completely different from the facts!"
"And where did you get these 'facts'?"
Marion paused, understanding her meaning. The werewolf girl's expression turned slightly aggrieved. "I wouldn't lie to you, and neither would Mom and Dad."
"But they weren't eyewitnesses, were they? That was over two hundred years ago." Tasha patted her upper arm reassuringly. "Have you ever played telephone? When dozens of people pass along what the first person said, one by one, the message becomes unrecognizable by the end. If that happens in just ten minutes, imagine what happens to something from centuries ago?"
Marion's resistant expression wavered.
"A lot can happen in two hundred years. Maybe it really was like that person said—maybe demons were involved," Tasha said lightly.
Marion caught the playful reassurance in her tone. She snuggled closer under Tasha's arm and grumbled, "I still don't like him."
This was practically a pout. Tasha chuckled and said, "Try not to kill him."
The girl tilted her head up, giving her a bright smile.
Victor let out a sound of disgust.
"Seeing you two reminds me of the past," he sneered. "Everyone just pins the blame on demons. You should award us the Erian Peace Prize."
Tasha ignored him. He stubbornly kept silent for half a minute before blurting out, "You don't seriously believe demons are behind this, do you? Just because of that priest's nonsense? I used to be one of the most frequent visiting Archdevils on the Material Plane. Look at what I've become. No other demon could possibly remain."
"Perhaps," Tashar replied.
How much truth lay in the priest's words? The Saros cult Victor described seemed like a typical major sect capable of dominating a region—generally lawful good and adept at self-promotion. This was evident in the illogical parts of the priest's story—the Erian Declaration was hardly orchestrated by the Saros cult.
So, was Marion telling the truth?
The werewolf girl was only sixteen, her entire clan wiped out long ago, harboring deep hatred for humans. Beastmen had no written language; their history was passed down orally. Given the accumulated animosity between the two races, Tasha doubted the beastmen's tale didn't embellish their own virtues while vilifying humans. This situation resembles Rashomon: every account, whether intentionally or not, tilts toward self-interest. As these perspectives rise and fall, they weave entirely different historical narratives, until each side becomes utterly convinced of their own version. Tasha was an outsider. She belonged neither to the humans here nor to the non-humans here. Thus, she could step outside the long-standing shackles of this world and gaze upon Erian's past of blood and fire with a cold, objective eye.
Seeing is believing; hearing is deceiving. Until she saw irrefutable evidence, she trusted no one.
As for Victor? His book contained knowledge outdated by four or five centuries—merely a reference to be consulted casually.
With those afflicted by the Wither Curse now accounted for, the dungeon dwellers could return to the surface. Samuel, the Holy Son of Saro, became a long-term mission. Neither Antler Town nor Red Gum County, incorporated into the domain plan, offered other worthy candidates for contracts. Yet, mere days later, the dungeon welcomed a new member.
A plump, middle-aged woman.
She sported a head of fluffy light brown curls, wore a thick, dirt-resistant travel outfit, and carried a bundle on her back. Her plumpness was remarkably even and endearing, reminiscent of the Fairy Godmother from Disney's Cinderella. This seemingly kind and harmless ordinary person appeared without warning at the edge of Angars Forest, alone, looking around in surprise at the empty surroundings.
Then she pulled a... rolling pin? from her sleeve and began tapping it against the ground as she made her way toward the vicinity of Antler Town.
Marion soon caught up to this uninvited guest and ordered her to halt. To avoid complications, the werewolf girl wore a hood that covered her ears. The plump aunt complied, pausing to wait for Marion to approach. Suddenly, with lightning speed, she yanked off her hood. Marion jumped back a meter at the lightning-fast motion, but the falling hood still revealed her ears.
"Oh, thank goodness! I was worried I'd come to the wrong place!" Auntie waved her rolling pin cheerfully. "I can't wait to see everyone!"
A peculiar glow emanated from one end of the rolling pin. As the light flickered and faded, her plump, round ears transformed into two pointed ones.