readsfreenovel B4 Chapter 1: Clean Up Duty
B4 Chapter 1: Clean Up Duty
B4 Chapter 1: Clean Up Duty
A dreadful chill permeated the catacombs beneath the temple of Zabit, god of death. The sensation served a purpose—to aid in the preservation of the corpses and bones interned there, as such temples often did. As such, even the gods’ priests rarely found cause to remain down here for long. But today was an exception.
The remains of a ritual circle lay smoldering on the floor, its power having fled alongside the life of the avatar it had summoned. But not without backlash. Figures splayed out in regalia of gold, blue, black, and white littered the floor, the worshippers of these four gods unified only in their mission—and its failure.
Haruto rushed about between the scattered priests where they lay in groaning heaps. He ignored the dribble of blood leaking from his own nose as it dribbled onto the ground. His hands glowed with [Healing] light as he feverishly worked on the others, doing his best to keep everyone he possibly could from joining the scores of entombed corpses that lined the walls.
“We must retreat.”
High Priest Clemmons’s words carried an urgency that Haruto had seldom heard before. The conical hat emblazoned with Kona’s sigil was nowhere to be found. Likely, it had been blasted off his head from the backlash of the ritual.
“Retreat? To where?” A hoarse voice whispered from the corner. The High Priest of Kyraz, still weakened from the encounter with the emperor, sat near the corner of the room. The distance had spared him from the worst of the blast, but a thin trickle of blood still ran from the crown of his head.
“Away. Out of the city, out of Novara itself if we must.” Clemmons insisted. “The Romans will not allow this attack to go unanswered. And it’s only a matter of time before they find us.”
“Retreating will only let them pick us off all the more quickly,” the High Priest of Arashim argued, his jowls wobbling. “No, we need to stay. There’s no guarantee they find us, and even if they do, we’ll be able to better defend ourselves here. Right, Vela?”
The portly high Priest turned to the hunched old woman behind him. The crone pondered for a moment, then dipped her head. “Zabit does not allow his temples to go undefended. Nor the souls that he lays to rest.”
“That’s not enough. I need reassurances.” Clemmons growled. “This entire plan was your idea, crone. Do not tell me that you neglected to plan for its failure.”
The glow of Haruto’s hands flickered. He gritted his teeth, forcing the skill to continue working. A wave of nausea answered him. His stamina was low. Too low. It was the same for all of them. They’d put so much into that ritual, so much preparation and energy. And yet the Romans had repelled it. With the might of arms, no less. They might as well have spat in the face of the gods themselves.
The arguing continued as he continued working, focusing on the worst of the injured first. An elderly man who had cracked his head against the wall of bones. A younger woman whose hands sported fresh burns. All the while, accusations continued to be thrown about as the already tenuous alliance seemed to unravel before his eyes.
He dashed past another body—one in embroidered blue robes that matched his own. It lay still and unmoving, its skin shriveled so much as to be practically unrecognizable. But not entirely.
Haruto quickly turned his head away from his friend’s dead-eyed and accusing gaze. There was nothing he could do. The man had been dead even before the ritual had gone awry. He’d made his choice, made the ultimate sacrifice in service to his god when it had been clear that the prepared sacrifices would not be sufficient. He ended up like the other dozen or so individuals lying around the formation, and those who had already been dragged away.
The realization made failure sting even more. All of this, all of this death and sacrifice, and for what? To fail so completely and utterly? Even with some of the high priests being weakened after their encounter with the emperor, the gods themselves were infallible. Surely they would not leave their believers to die like this, not after enacting their will so faithfully? Surely there was some other reason why the avatar had seemed incomplete, weaker than anticipated?
Haruto shook off the budding heresy in his mind. No. They must have failed. Perhaps they’d gotten the ritual wrong in their haste, or simply not sacrificed enough. They needed to strengthen their faith, not let it falter. Still, if even he was having such thoughts, it was no wonder why tensions remained so high.
The ongoing squabble was nearing a fever pitch of both panic and hostility when the old crone spoke again. “There has been an announcement from the emperor.”
Her quiet voice hushed the others immediately. High Priest Clemmons gestured impatiently. “Well?”
“He intends to bring all priests of the true pantheon before him for ‘judgment.’ Any who flee shall be killed.”
The words caused an immediate shift in the mood. Clemmons’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “If we agree, then death will be the least of what greets us. This settles it. We must flee.”
Haruto found himself shocked by the response. Surely this was just a bluff? After all, rounding up every last Priest in the city, much less the country… That was such a monumental task that it bordered on absurd. Never mind that the gods would never allow such a thing. But the deadpan expression of High Priest Clemmons made him wonder. Were these so-called Roman gods really that great a threat to deliver on that promise?
“...Agreed.” The crone rasped. “The situation is untenable. We must flee.”
With that, the remaining black-clad priests swept toward their leader and bunched about her like a flock of fell crows. One produced an ornate black dagger from beneath her cloak and deftly slashed it across her throat. Darkness exploded out of the wound to envelop her compatriots like a pair of massive wings before compressing into a fine point. A bolt of indigo light shot toward them, but it was too late. The priests of Zabit were gone.
“Damn it!” Clemmons clenched his palm closed and slammed his fist against the wall with enough force to crack it. He visibly restrained his frustration and whirled on the others. “We leave immediately. Shed your robes and change into plain clothes if need be. We leave in groups and spread out from there. Do not stop until you make it well past the city’s walls.”
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Everyone burst into action, acting on the High Priest’s orders. The other two church leaders began issuing commands as well, with the priests of Arashim working to open the hidden exits they’d added to the building’s architecture and those of Kyraz working to organize appropriate groups. Haruto healed one last woman before stumbling forward to join them, the entire room spinning with every movement. He was in no shape to move, much less run for his life. But he’d have to.
He stumbled up one of the hidden staircases behind a group as the building began to shake. Small bits of dirt sifted down onto their heads. A few of the priests looked back, eyes wide with panic. It seemed they had less time than expected. The Legion was already intent on battering down their temple doors.
Moments later, Haruto found himself inside a small house. An abandoned one, based on the dusty state of its interior. But he didn’t have time to dwell on why. Even now, he heard the sounds of battle growing louder.
The others scrambled toward the windows, not willing to use the door that faced toward the temple. Haruto followed, forcing himself to squeeze out of the opening and into a back alley. Even that short fall was enough to send him off balance, but he swallowed his growing nausea down. He ran for as long as he could, avoiding the main thoroughfares and putting as much distance as possible between him and the temple district until he could no longer hold it in. Doubling over, he vomited onto the street.
He straightened, wiping his mouth. He wondered how the others were faring, but a series of deep booms in the distance returned a rather ominous answer. He didn’t know how many had failed to escape in time. But he could only hope that the number was smaller than expected.
With a shuddering breath, Haruto hurried forward again. If he were lucky, he could get to the gates before they really started to enact the emperor’s decree and search people. If he wasn’t… well, there was no way to know unless he tried.
He continued his escape, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as he approached the gate. A stream of people was ahead of him, a larger one than the city’s usual daily traffic. Likely, people were fleeing the fighting that the avatar had been involved in. Hopefully, it would be enough to cover him.
Stepping out, he walked into the line and merged with the flowing traffic. Sweat trickled down his neck as he passed the guards, hoping that they didn’t have some sort of detection skill to identify him. He didn’t have any iconography of his god on him. He’d been smart enough to leave that behind. And his class was simply [Priest]. Would that damn him? Or maybe they didn’t use [Appraisal] on everyone?
He held his breath as he stepped by the guards. One step, then another, and still no one stopped him. A sense of relief flooded through him as he took his first steps on the plain road.
Something wrapped around his ankles. Haruto didn't have time to scream in pain before he found himself falling, his face smashing into the paved road with a sickening crunch. Nausea reared its ugly head as he felt a tugging sensation.
“You could have stopped him at the checkpoint.” A voice said.
“Yes. But then they don't feel the same fear.”
Haruto’s nails scrabbled for purchase along the smooth stones as he was dragged inexorably back to the city. The voices continued speaking with such casualness that they may have been speaking about the weather.
“We don't know what god he serves.”
A snort. “If he's running, I'd say that list is pretty short. Besides, disobeying the emperor is reason enough to punish him in my book.”
“Fair enough. Can't say I mind seeing them squirm a bit.”
The guards shared a laugh as Haruto continued to struggle in vain. A foot held him still as rough hands yanked his arms behind his back. The biting rope at his ankles was brought up to meet his wrists and looped around his neck, forcing him into a backward bow.
“All right. Get him to the holding cells. The emperor will decide how to handle them personally.”
Haruto felt himself being hoisted up onto someone's shoulder. The rope cut into his neck, practically strangling him. The edges of his vision went dark, the bouncing causing him to retch onto the Legionnaire’s back. It earned him a cuff to the ears.
It wasn't long before he was manacled and tossed into a holding cell alongside a few dozen others. All of them remained firmly restrained and under watch, their captors apparently unwilling to take chances. Haruto's heart sank as he realized that some of the faces around him were all too familiar.
The door clanged shut as his captor called over to a guard. “What do you think we’ll do with the runners?"
“Not hard to imagine. Honestly, I'm looking forward to it. I was fighting in Stonester the last time priests got too uppity. I'm looking forward to the show this time.”
They laughed, and Haruto felt himself go cold.
Time passed by in a blur of fear, pain, and nausea. At least the aftereffects of stamina drain kept him distracted from the situation at hand. But it certainly didn't make the experience any more pleasant. Nor did it help him plan an escape, if such a thing were possible.
When they were finally brought out, it was in a line, their manacles shackled together. They were marched in a neat row toward the western gate. Outside of it, he was stunned to see nearly a thousand men lining the road, shields at the ready. He hadn't believed so many could be spared for something like this. Then again, they seemed… different. Their features were more Novarian than what he'd come to associate with these Romans. Conscripts, maybe?
A stabbing headache interrupted his thoughts. The line shuffled forward, and Haruto was surprised to find his wrists unshackled. His relief didn't last long, though. A massive T-shaped piece of wood was thrust over his shoulder, the weight nearly buckling him.
“Keep moving!” One of the Legionnaires called over. He stumbled forward, carrying the load. Perhaps this was their punishment? Physical labor? That wasn't too bad. Not great, of course, but far less than the death he'd initially feared.
The line shuffled forward and down the road. After no more than a few given steps, one of the priests ahead of him was pulled out of line with his heavy load. The rest kept walking. Over and over it happened until Haruto began to near the front of the queue.
That was when he heard the screaming.
It came from behind—well behind. Maybe someone had tried to escape? With the load he carried, looking back was a near impossibility. That had to be it. He really hoped so, at least.
The screaming didn't stop. More voices joined the cacophony the further they marched. But Haruto kept his eyes forward. At this point, he wouldn't have looked back even if he could. Fear of what might follow paralyzed him.
He muttered a soft prayer to Kyraz. When he was at the front of the line, it was his turn. Two Legionnaires roughly pulled him aside. He was allowed to drop his load as they made him dig a hole. At first, he thought he was maybe digging his own grave, but it was just a post hole.
Hope surged within him. Maybe it was just physical labor after all. Sure, he was in no shape to do even something like this—his slow progress earned him quite a few cuffs and swears. But he would survive. He would live.
When the hole was finally done, they pushed him over roughly, wrestling him onto the wood. He struggled, but to no avail. His class wasn't known for investing in strength, even if he'd been healthy to begin with.
They stretched out one arm along the upper shape of the T, and a rough iron nail was hammered through his palm.
Haruto screamed.
He continued screaming as two more nails fixed his other hand and feet in place. He was hoisted up, his own weight threatening to rip the nails straight through his flesh. Every breath was agony as he used what tiny bit of strength he had to lever himself up.
His screams for help devolved into wordless pleas as he looked out over the road. Below him, more shackled priests walked past. None of them looked up to meet his eyes as his cries fell on deaf ears.