Three years. Hundreds of mouths to feed.
The logistics didn't add up.
First, the food.
The Village Chief claimed the stockpile was prepared for famine. But even if someone had the foresight to hoard that much grain, where did the money come from?
This world mirrored medieval Europe. A rigid caste system separated the nobility from the peasantry. Serfs worked the land; nobles reaped the profit.
The Chief was a skilled hunter, yes. But in this era, a hunter was just a glorified peasant. There was no way he had the capital to purchase three years' worth of provisions for an entire village.
Second, the Priest.
The villagers revered him because he taught them how to repel werewolves. Fire, silver, holy water.
But there was a contradiction.
The Priest claimed werewolves feared fire. Yet the beast Rod encountered last night had charged straight through the torchlight without hesitation.
Was the Priest lying? Or was there something different about these wolves?
"It's a mess."
Rod rubbed his temples.
Detective work wasn't his strong suit. He preferred direct action.
"If I can't figure it out, I'll just ask the people responsible."
He patted the revolver on his hip and the shotgun under his coat.
He was armed, enhanced, and dangerous. Why play riddles with a bunch of medieval peasants when he could just kick down doors?
When you have a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. And Rod had a very big hammer.
Inside the church, the service ended.
Villagers tossed copper coins into the collection box and filed out.
Standing at the pulpit, the Priest—a man draped in austere black vestments—suddenly called out to a young girl in the crowd.
"Child, wait."
The girl, innocent and wide-eyed, looked up at the benevolent father figure.
"Father? Is something wrong?"
"My dear, pious child... I sense a shadow upon you. An evil presence has latched onto your soul."
The girl's face went pale.
In this village, the Priest's word was law. He was their shield against the darkness. If he said there was evil, there was evil.
"What... what should I do?" she stammered, trembling.
Seeing her fear, the Priest's smile widened, warm and reassuring.
"Do not fear, my sister. As a faithful servant of the Lord, it is my duty to exorcise this darkness from you."
"Come with me."
Anxious but grateful, the girl followed the Priest into the back of the church.
They entered a hidden chamber.
There were no windows. Only a few flickering candles illuminated the gloom.
The room was filled with strange apparatuses.
A wooden X-frame with leather restraint straps.
A tall iron rack with suspended ropes.
A pillory designed to lock a person's head and hands, forcing them to bend over a wooden beam.
The walls were adorned with tools that looked less like religious artifacts and more like instruments of torture. Whips. Canes. Thorny scourges stained with dried blood.
The girl looked around, a cold knot forming in her stomach. The claustrophobic room made her skin crawl.
"Father... what is this place?"
"Take off your clothes," the Priest commanded.
As the heavy door clicked shut, the benevolent smile twisted into something carnal and cruel.
"Huh?"
The girl shrank back, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor.
"Why... why do I need to undress?"
"The devil has invaded your flesh. I must use the Holy Water to purify you from the inside out. Only through direct, unhindered contact can the Divine Grace fill you completely."
The Priest's voice dropped to a hypnotic, persuasive cadence.
The girl nodded slowly, her trust in his authority overriding her instincts. She reached for the buttons of her dress.
BOOM!
The heavy oak door exploded inward, kicked off its hinges.
A towering shadow filled the doorway.
Rod stood there, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. He scanned the dungeon-like room, his eyes landing on the "pious" Priest.
"Grooming is bad enough, but you're into BDSM too?"
Rod stepped into the room, the broken door crunching under his boots.
"You really know how to party, don't you, old man?"
"Who are you?!"
The Priest scrambled back, his secret exposed. Panic flashed in his eyes, but he tried to summon his authority.
"This is sanctified ground! You dare intrude? Do you not fear the Lord's punishment?!"
"The Lord's punishment?"
Rod smiled.
It was a smile void of warmth. A smile that promised violence.
"Today, Jesus himself couldn't save you. I said so."