Chapter 22:
In a small town nestled in the northern reaches of the Salona Empire, a veiled feminine figure and an old man dressed in priestly robes brave the harsh, snowy landscape.
Despite the intense blizzard swirling around them, they walk with ease and determination—as if taking a leisurely stroll along a tranquil beach.
The veiled figure moves gracefully. Her long cloak billows behind her as she navigates the snow-covered path. Though her features hide beneath the veil, an aura of regality and purpose radiates from her.
Beside her, the old man walks with a steady gait. His weathered face shows no sign of discomfort from the biting cold. He carries himself with quiet confidence, his eyes sharp and observant despite his advanced age.
***
Lucina
Upon arriving in the town, we seek shelter in a dilapidated, run-down temple.
Inside my room, I remove the veil and cloth covering my face. My features reveal themselves to the dim light of the temple. I also take off the headpiece jewelry—a moon-shaped crystal.
The attire I wear belongs to a "Daughterof the Moon," Salona's equivalent of nuns on Earth. The colors are white, grey, and blue.
Only my eyes remain visible beneath the veil. The moon-shaped crystal rests between my eyebrows—a symbol of my supposed devotion to the moon goddess.
Finally free from the stressful attire, I let out a sigh of relief.
If Kai were here, he would probably die of laughter at the sight.
It's day one hundred and twenty of my pilgrimage with the Pope. I wonder how the boys are doing. I haven't been in contact with anyone other than the old man. The towns we visit are chosen at random.
Sometimes our mission is spreading hope—helping the homeless, providing food for those in need.
Other times, like this assignment, we carry out the goddess's justice.
A reminder: I am no longer on Earth. Justice here often means dealing with corrupt nobles and those in power.
Code word: eliminating them.
In this town, there's a process for applying for "justice of the moon." Requests are sent to the main church.
The church receives millions of these requests—far more than they could possibly handle. Some are chosen and completed, providing a glimmer of hope for the people of the empire.
I wonder how many lives are affected by the decisions made through this process.
How many people's blood is on my hands?
Should I be concerned that I don't feel more remorse?
It is what it is.
*
A soft knock on the door interrupts my thoughts.
An old woman dressed in the attire of a devotee enters.
"Saintess, we've prepared a bath for you."
I've stopped fighting these fanatics calling me Saintess. To the truly devoted and faithful, there's a halo or light around me. So in their eyes, I am a Saintess.
I follow her to a small room with a wooden tub filled with warm water. A luxury in these parts. I'm grateful for it.
I undress and sink into the water, feeling the warmth seep into my slightly freezing toes.
A brief respite from the weight of my duties.
I stand in the dimly lit room. Moonlight filters through the dilapidated window, casting an ethereal glow.
It's time to work.
Dressed in my attire adorned with moon symbols, I retrieve a large metal rod from my spatial bag. Its head is a menacing metal ball adorned with spikes, connected by a short chain.
I feel the weight of the weapon in my hand. The power it holds.
It's like those medieval weapons. I love it.
I feel the necklace with the three moon phases around my neck. Divine energy courses through my veins.
The familiar hum of a popular church hymn escapes my lips as I drag the weapon across the crooked wooden floor. The sound grates against the silence of the temple.
I step out of the room.
The Pope—whom I affectionately call "Gramps"—waits. He avoids making eye contact with me. He knows what I'm about to do.
I am in what I like to call my "power-up" state. A moment of heightened divine connection.
I laugh at my childish naming sense.
The first time this happened, the Pope told me he couldn't look me in the eyes for fear of going blind. But the brief second he did, my eyes glowed blue—matching the crystal head ornament on my forehead.
It must be quite a sight.
I snicker.
I wish someone could capture this moment.
Me doing some main character shit.
My thoughts pull away.
Cries and pain internally surround me as I walk through the faded halls of the temple. The anguish of those in need cuts through me, fueling my determination.
The sound of a father's prayers echoes through my mind. A stark reminder of the task at hand.
It's time to bring justice.
To quench the thirst for blood that burns within me.
***
The room was heavy with the scent of alcohol.
A group of men sat drinking. Scantily clad, barely adult girls served them in the freezing weather. Some girls even knelt on the floor.
"Have you heard the rumor?" one of the men slurred.
"What nonsense is he on about now?" another man replied.
The rest burst into laughter.
"I'm serious..." The slurring man continued. "There's talk about a blue-eyed daughter of the moon. Rumors have it that she's the chosen one..."
He took another large gulp of alcohol.
"...they say when you hear humming and the sound of her weapon dragging across the ground... she's there not as a saintess, but as the goddess's wrath."
The rest of the men burst into laughter.
"It's just rumors started by those devotees to give themselves hope," another man said while pouring more alcohol.
"Right, ha ha ha. If she's so real, why isn't she here?" a man toasted with another.
Suddenly, faint sounds drifted through the air.
Humming. Clanking of chains. Metal scraping against the floor.
Ignored at first.
The girls heard it this time. They stopped what they were doing and knelt to the floor.
"What's with you, bitch?!" A man kicked a kneeling girl.
She whimpered but remained still.
The door burst open with enormous force.
A feminine figure stood in the doorway. A large weapon—a flail—hung from her left arm, dragging against the floor.
The men looked at her.
Their eyes practically melted out of their sockets as they started to scream.
"Leave," she said softly.
The girls scrambled out of the room, eyes on the floor.
After the girls left, the door slammed shut.
"Oh dear. I thought you wanted me here? This is quite the poor reception. Can't you see me?"
The men kept screaming.
"Oh dear. Oops."
With a wave of her right arm, a warm blue-white light spread across the room. The men were healed.
"See me now?" The girl smiled,though they couldn't see it with her face covered.
"You... you're real," said the man who wasn't slurring anymore.
"Yes, dear. It's too late now. Let's skip the begging and be men and accept your fate." She lifted her weapon to her shoulder. "You, the one with the wet pants. You're up first."
With a signal of her hand, he was dragged to her front.
She swiftly wielded her weapon toward the man's head.
It exploded.
A headless body collapsed. Blood and brain matter splashed on everyone in the room.
A swift pause of silence.
Then the men began to scream anew. They tried to flee, but their feet and bodies wouldn't listen.
"You don't think that's it?"
She motioned her hand again. The exploded matter gathered, reforming his head.
"You don't deserve a swift death." Her voice turned cold. "The screams of the girls. Their blood on your hands. The pleas of their families. You will not know peace until you feel a fraction of their pain."
She stepped closer.
"Since you're such horrible people, emotional pain won't cut it. I will kill you, break your limbs, and heal you—over and over and over again—until you suffer."
She tilted her head.
"Now, who's next? I have all the time in the world."
*
The quiet little town in the northern part of Salona heard screams for hours and hours.
Until dawn.