The days in Pe'cha passed quietly.
Inside a small stone church at the edge of the district, the air was cool and still.
Candles flickered along the walls.
Ulon knelt at one of the long benches, his large frame slightly hunched. His hands were clasped together, resting on the backrest, head lowered, eyes closed.
For once—
He was quiet.
Footsteps echoed softly across the stone floor.
Measured and unhurried.
Ulon didn't open his eyes.
The figure stopped beside him, then sat down without a word.
Time passed.
Then—
Ulon exhaled and opened his eyes.
"…It's been a while," he said, voice low. "Brother Maynard."
Beside him, the priest smiled gently.
"It is you who has been absent, Brother Ulon," Maynard replied, his tone calm and refined. "I have always been here. Waiting, as always."
A faint pause.
"I merely wonder… what brought you back this time?"
Ulon scratched the back of his head.
"…Felt like I needed to confess my sins."
Maynard's smile widened slightly.
"Then it must be quite a collection," he said. "It took you long enough."
Ulon snorted, then sat down heavily on the bench.
"Yeah, well… don't expect a full list."
He reached into his storage ring and pulled out a pouch, dropping it onto the bench between them.
Coins clinked.
"Here," Ulon said. "From those noisy little kids outside."
Maynard picked up the pouch and weighed it in his hand.
"The Shieldbreakers has been rather generous these past weeks," he said.
Ulon leaned back slightly.
"Who gave the most?" he asked. "The Slouch? He gave names for his little… followers here, right?"
Maynard nodded.
"He did," he said. "Just last week."
Ulon clicked his tongue.
"At first, I thought it was stupid," he admitted. "But… I guess a man with nothing knows how to give something."
He paused.
Then glanced sideways.
"…Did he tell you he's a slave?"
The question came casually.
But his eyes weren't.
They were sharp.
Watching.
Maynard's expression didn't change—but there was a flicker.
Small.
Almost nothing.
"I cannot disclose such matters," he said calmly.
Ulon huffed, "The vow?"
"Yeah. The vow."
Maynard inclined his head slightly.
Silence settled for a moment.
Then Ulon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"…It's been a while," he said. "Since we went out together."
He glanced at Maynard.
"You, me… and Brother Julius."
Maynard's gaze softened.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It has been… nearly a decade."
Ulon nodded.
"…Tell me something."
He straightened slightly.
"Do you want to come with us?"
Maynard looked at him.
"To fight the goblins," Ulon added.
The priest's fingers tightened slightly around the pouch.
He opened his mouth—
"Don't say you're too old."
Ulon cut him off immediately.
"We're almost the same age," he said. "So don't give me that excuse."
Maynard closed his mouth.
Ulon leaned closer.
"And don't start blaming yourself again," he added, voice firmer now. "About Julius."
Maynard looked away.
"…How could I not?" he said quietly. "It was my failure that cost him his life."
Ulon frowned.
"You really think that's what he wanted?" he asked.
Maynard didn't answer.
"You've been hiding here for years," Ulon continued. "Helping orphans, feeding the poor… yeah, that's good."
He paused.
"But Julius didn't die so you could hide in a church."
Maynard's grip tightened.
"That is not—"
"He wanted you out there," Ulon said. "Saving people."
A long silence followed.
The candles flickered.
Maynard exhaled slowly.
"You speak as if the world is so simple," he said. "As if one more sword could make a difference."
Ulon shrugged.
"Maybe not," he said. "But one more you? That's different."
Maynard let out a quiet breath.
"You overestimate me."
"No," Ulon said. "You're just underestimating yourself."
Maynard shook his head slightly.
"I have responsibilities here," he said. "These children—this church—"
"They'll survive," Ulon said. "You trained them well. And you're not leaving forever."
He glanced toward the door.
"Besides… what happens if the goblins reach this place?"
Maynard fell silent.
Ulon leaned back again.
"You think staying here keeps them safe?" he asked. "Or stopping the problem before it gets here?"
Maynard closed his eyes briefly.
"…You argue like a brute," he said.
Ulon grinned faintly.
"Yeah," he said. "But I'm not wrong."
Another pause.
Then Ulon added, quieter this time,
"…We're going to war."
Maynard opened his eyes.
"And I'd rather have you watching my back," Ulon said. "Than praying for me after I'm dead."
The words lingered.
Heavy.
Honest.
Maynard looked down at his hands.
"…You have not changed," he said softly.
Ulon shrugged.
"Still ugly too," he added.
Maynard let out a small laugh despite himself.
"That, I cannot deny."
The tension eased slightly.
But only slightly.
Maynard looked toward the altar.
Then back at Ulon.
"…If I go," he said slowly, "I will not go as I once did."
Ulon raised a brow.
"I will not fight for glory," Maynard continued. "Nor for redemption."
He met Ulon's eyes.
"I will go… because it is necessary."
Ulon nodded.
"Good enough for me."
Maynard exhaled.
Then, finally—
"…Very well," he said. "I will join you."
Ulon blinked.
Then grinned.
"About time," he said, standing up and stretching his arms.
Maynard shook his head lightly, though a faint smile remained on his lips.
"Truly," he said, "you have not changed at all."
"Yeah," Ulon replied. "But this time—"
He glanced toward the church doors.
"…We're not losing anyone."