1.

The Matron Vestal came down alone in the night to attend the Holy Flame. The storm always made the task harder for the young acolytes, especially at such a late hour.

Her own Matron was always so strict long ago, especially to her - as if making her work harder than her peers would wash away her sins faster. Being a Sister of Battle was never enough to her overseer – her disciplines must have a pure and simple life, dedicated their untainted selves to the Holy Flame. Under the strict eyes of their peers of course.

As her age and experience caught up with her and she managed to reach the highest rank a vestal could reach, she found herself going easy on the young ones. For all their worth, they all could use a little break. Even that day the Matron silently volunteered for the task of keeping the Flame up, letting her sisters sleep in their rooms peacefully.

However as soon as she lifted a heavy log to send it to the fire, she noticed something was amiss.

Water on the floors. She was there with the other Vestals after the rain started to pour, closing all the windows and doors, cleaning up the remaining droplets, making sure to keep the church dry.

Yet there were signs of water puddles.

Puddles that are shaped like footsteps.

The Matron Vestal grabbed a candlelight then slowly approached the puddles.

She soon found the origin – while a window seemingly was closed, there were enough signs on the wall and floor below to see someone had opened it recently.

Whoever opened it, they were on the ground of the Order of the Holy Flame. An intruder.

The old woman realized that she should alert the guards. This could have been anyone, could have shown danger to the other vestals.

Yet instead of heading back to the quarters, looking for the closest guard, she followed the footsteps further.

Because the moment she would alert the knights, they would assume it’s someone dangerous.

Someone who should be put down without hesitation. Without mercy.

Yet… the Matron couldn’t stop thinking about a young girl, seeking shelter from her attackers in the closest church she could find.

Of course, it could have been a common thief. Or worse. But she had faith that the Holy Flame won’t let her astray. Besides, she was still a sister of battle – a Matron who has gone through fights, and was ready for her next crusade in the coming weeks.

So she followed the footsteps looking for this little mouse.

With her candlelight, she lit the torches on the wall, looking for further signs – she soon found out that the intruder had made their way towards the confession booth.

The Vestal could still see the water dropping from the handle of one of the doors.

She smiled. Who was she to refuse someone at the confession stand?

Without fear, she put the candle on the ground next to the booth, then, as it was the most natural thing to do, opened the door on the empty side of the stand.

She knew there was someone on the other side. Yet it unnerved her how she couldn’t hear it.

Show me the light on the end of my life, she prayed.

She bowed towards the divider, showing no fear.

„Light be with you, stranger.” Her voice didn’t waver. She left her fate in the palm of the higher being.

She will accept whatever result this will yield.

„And with you.” She adds herself, as if reprimanding a young acolyte, still wet behind their ears.

She heard a clank. Something mechanical, like a clock, has been set up.

The Matron looked on her right. She recognized the weapon – a gun, a cruel killing weapon. A banned object in the Order.

Banning it doesn’t make it less deadly.

The Matron didn’t waver.

„How can I help you, dear stranger?” Her voice was honest, without fear. Fear would just cloud up the light’s shining light.

„Stand up and walk out.” The voice coming from the booth is raspy, like it was not used for a while. A man's voice, threatening.

The Matron continued.

„I don’t think you understand what this place is…”

„Get the fuck out.” Another command, another clank on the divider, promising a swift end if he were not to be obeyed.

However the end doesn’t scare ones with faith as their shield.

„Son. This is a confessional.”

The Matron explained to him with patience and just a bit of a stern side. She got a short-lived silence in response. Maybe because he was confused by her answer. Maybe he was contemplating shooting her now or later.

„This is a place for sinners like you and me to confess their sins, to let the Light listen and

forgive us. I have a task to confess my sins to the Holy Flame before leaving.”

It’s not a lie of course. The Matron had sins she didn’t tell anyone before, only the Light shone on her deeds before. It was high time to come to terms with them.

Especially if the stranger decided to end her life right here, letting her meet her maker.

„I won’t mind if you’ll listen to my sins and secrets. After I finish my confession, I will leave

and not disturb you.” She promised, sparing a moment to the stranger to answer.

The gun didn’t move from the divider, and she didn’t hear any response. But she didn’t hear any objection either.

„Thank you. Now, let us pray.”

She put her book on her lap, clasping her hands together.

„Holy Flame, please listen to my pleas, shine through me and burn away the impurities. My name is Elena, lived by that name as your faithful Vestal. I have come to confess my sins.”

The Matron Vestal took a deep breath.

I’m sorry for not doing this sooner, she thought, a silent line towards the Flame, which solemnly sent her an executioner.

„In my previous life, I lived as a prostitute.”

The words come easily, like they weren’t hidden for decades in the dark, hiding from the judging eyes of the church. Cowering in fear before they could be burned on the pyre.

„I sold my body to earn enough to survive. When it wasn’t enough, I stole. When stealing became hard, I robbed.”

The Matron Vestal thought of finding excuses. Pathetic, even before the judge she hesitated.

„I had my reasons, yet they were short lived. My children shouldn’t have a mother like me. My sins brought them nothing but suffering, yet they stood by me. They accepted me, tainting themselves with shame.”

She feels herself shiver. After so long, she can’t even remember their faces – just their reassuring words. It’s gonna be okay, they said and the poor woman believed them.

„I brought myself to your house the day after the plague took them. A divine punishment that I was the cause of.”

A punishment that took so many lives. A punishment that missing her.

„Instead of judging me and punishing me for my sins, you let me erase my past, and come to your door as a new woman. Someone who should have been left on the road, yet you have accepted me, as you accept every sinner who seeks the light of your flame. Because you shine on every person equally.”

The sinner doesn’t notice the gun disappearing from the divider.

„I pray for forgiveness, let me accept your cleansing flame. Let your Light be the judge of my sins.”

She finished her prayer, letting out a breath she was holding.

„Thank you for letting me confess. If you still want it, I will leave you in your shelter.

She dared to look towards the other side of the booth. The torchlight from outside showed a figure sitting next to her, looking at something in his hand. The Matron expected a gun, yet the thing was much smaller. Something shining in the flickering light of the flame, like a pendant on the end of chains.

„Or did you seek something other than shelter?”

The man didn’t answer. Yet the Matron thought to be patient. To just listen.

To wait for the answer.

„My name is…”

2.

„Sir Reynauld of Châtillon, what an astonishing title. Don’t you like the sound of that?”

The armored recruiters' booming voice reverberated the small room of the cottage. In front of him sat a tall, strong young man, blond hair tied behind his head. Despite his hard-lined features, his face showed kindness and a sort of peace that daily hard work and simple, honest life could cause. Behind him sat a woman, hair in a knot, watching behind her frequently - she had to keep an eye on a small and rather active child. The boy didn’t seem to focus much on his toys, he kept looking at his father, as if he understood the huge task that was asked of him.

„You can be a fine knight in no time, the fortunes of the crusade could sustain your family for life! And the more fights you take part in…”

„How long will the crusade last?” asked the man in a low, clear voice.

„That is only up to the Holy Flames will. However I can assure you, with more men like you,

it will be done in no time.”

„Will it last until the harvest?” The man asked patiently, thinking of the consequences his next words could mean. What his answer can bring to his family.

„Oh, that would be a bit early – campaigns such as this can last two or three years, but we will provide you enough down time between those years.” smiled the knight, his teeth were immaculate, as if they were never rotten in his life.

„Enough time to provide for my family? Enough time for me to stay on the fields and make sure they have enough for winter” asked the man again, his patience slowly started to run out.

„Your family will be compensated highly for your service after your first quarter year.

A quarter of the year. Just when the leaves started to fall. Just when they needed every man available in the village for the fields. It would be preposterous to ask the others to help them in such a time.

And there were already young men signing up for the crusade. His family won’t have anyone else to help them out. They will starve without him there to provide for them.

The man, Reynauld, has made his decision.

„Was this alright, my dear? You were always a follower of the church.”

The man, Reynauld, contemplated his choice.

„I’m not sure. Refusing the call when I was needed will surely be a sin.”

The crusades were a way for the common people to cleanse themselves from any sin and past mistakes, to make themselves a new man, to get glory and honor and make sure their family and themselves will reach a safe afterlife.

In a place where there’s plenty for everyone, and peace will stay with them. The call of the Holy Flame was something that was considered holy and righteous, so much so that it was rarely mentioned what happens when it was refused.

It’s not like Reynauld was a grave sinner, he always stayed on the path as a true follower would. He didn’t need forgiveness for much.

„I will still be a believer.” He turned to his wife, laying his hands on her shoulders. „We’re gonna raise our children in the name of the Light, pray for forgiveness. We will work hard, it will understand our plight and forgive us.”

He hugged his wife, assuring her of the safe future he will bring. It’s gonna be alright, he didn’t refuse because of cowardice. Just the young man had other responsibilities too.

„My job is to provide for you two, to keep you safe. Can’t do that while away for who knows how long.”

„Rey, I’m sure they would understand and send help to the farm…”

„They need every man capable of grabbing a weapon and fight. Besides, there’s plenty here who signed up as soldiers. They can get glory and keep our lands safe from the dark forces, while I take care of the farm. Take care of you two.”

He turned to his son, patting his head.

„When you grow up and be a capable man, I’ll sign the draft papers. Next time I’ll make sure to give the Flame back what I owe.

Next time. Next time for sure.

3.

The thief looked at the paper, reading through the lines over and over again.

The Matron Vestal, Elena stood next to him, ready at a moment's notice if he were to change his mind. He was asked a great task.

„If you don’t know how to write your name down, it will be enough to just cross the lines.” The knight behind them said without a shred of malice. Asking non-educated folks and recruiting them was a common practice for the crusades. Even if they didn’t know their letters, they could still be taught to fight for the Light.

„Sir Sebastian, can you leave us for a bit?” The matron asked, not missing the look the knight gave them. The verses could teach him more about handling delicate matters.

„I’ll be at the door.” The knight bowed, leaving the old vestal with the robber. Elena hoped this would maybe help his nervousness. To make a life-changing decision.

Minutes pass without movement. Before the vestal could think of something to help the thief’s inner turmoil, he grabbed the pen.

He put the pen in the ink, followed by writing his name on the draft paper. He gave Elena a slight nod, not daring to look her in the eye. Afraid to see her calming smile.

The matron took an item in her hand - the charcoal that laid next to the parchment. The vestal put the end of the charcoal on the paper, and with a precise stroke, erased the name on the paper. Only a black heavy line remained in place of the name – no name, no past. No sins. „Done. Now all it remains is signing your new name.” Elena smiled, feeling so proud of him.

Not everyone had the courage for such a sacrifice.

The new man before him didn’t seem convinced.

„Feels too easy…”

The words slightly shocked Elena.

„Easy? Son, you just erased your past life, and are ready to take on your new future – a path riddled with death and suffering. This is an enormous task to be asked of you, yet you made it.”

„I don’t feel like I made a difference.”

The matron had a thought to educate him again about what the crusades meant and what exactly signed up for, yet she kept her silence.

It wasn’t about not understanding how heavy the task was, was it?

„Every deed I did, everything, everyone who I wronged… They won’t matter if I can just kill a handful of ’whoever you want’ to. Or die trying.” the acolyte said with a gloom look on his face.

Elena understood now.

The hesitation wasn’t for the lack of courage.

But for the lack of faith.

Yet the vestal was patient with him. It was hard to ask a man living in the shadows to not be blinded by the light. Turning away from it with his eyes shielded, embracing it without remorse - it will come in time.

And if it won’t come until his fateful death… The Flame already accepted him in his ranks. Giving him peace about his choice might not be in its holy plans.

So instead of reprimanding, she continued to assure him, to ease his doubts. This is what she personally could do for him at the moment.

„The graves will still hold the corpses. Your heart will still scream from pain. Yet you have written down the first line of your book, you have started the first day of your new life.”

„The first step of the road…” he whispered. His black eyes seemed to look at something else. Something important, surely.

„As you say.” the Matron added.

„Will it be enough?” the former thief finally looked at her. His face still resembled a skeleton, making the vestal take note to give him enough food for later. Hopefully he won’t leave it untouched next time.

„It will be a rocky road to travel.” She continued. „Your tasks won’t be easy. But I can assure you – if you’ll stay on it, even if you won’t reach your goal, your place among the sacred halls will be yours.”

The vestal reassured him, then pointed towards the paper again.

„Now, appointing your name, I have suggestions…”

„I got that.” said her new brother, getting a book out of his pockets.

It was a small prayer book, one of the first ones a young acolyte would be able to get. Elena already gave him her old one the day they met.

He turned the page until he reached a point and showed her the passage. It was a familiar tale - a tale of the penitent thief.

The matron smiled, not just because of the name, but because the page already had some scribbles written in it. Maybe she should include the teaching of ’respecting holy objects’ in their next lesson.

After he’ll be taught to handle a sword properly.

„Is it bad?” The acolyte asked nervously.

„It suits you perfectly. Although you have some large shoes to fill in.” she chuckled while giving his book back. Seeing the brother's confused look, she continued.

„He is also a saint, protector of thieves and the poor. Of course a little ambition can take you to places…”

„Oh. It wasn’t why I chose the name…” the former thief added, looking even more nervous than before.

„He repented just before his death. He must have thought he was too late, yet still tried.”

For a fleeting moment, the Vestal could see her younger self, ashamed and covered in self- inflicted bruises, in front of the church's door.

She also thought it was too late.

Holy Flame, thank you.

„He… both of you are right. It’s never too late. And I’m glad you chose right.”

Now, you only need to stay on the path, she thought.

Just be patient.

Just work hard.

And in time, maybe you’ll forgive yourself too.

The former thief nodded, still not fully believing her words. But that was okay, there’s still time for faith.

And for his actual task in the crusade…

Well, he was always good at the killing part.

4.

They were running out of time.

The winter was getting ever so closer, yet they still had work to do. Too much work.

The village had way less capable hands to harvest enough, making the workload for the remaining villagers increase two, even three times more. But it wasn’t the main problem.

Reynauld was strong, if the tiredness got to him, he just prayed for strength, prayed one his poems taught to him in his boyhood, and could get more work done. He could even help the others, but one man wasn’t enough to manage when the cold started to become ever so closer. And worst of all, the church still needed more.

They increased their tax, the collectors arriving earlier and asking more than the village anticipated.

Certain farms got protection. If they provided even one man for the crusade, they were left alone. The others had no excuse and had to compensate for those farms too.

The toll had to be paid by any means necessary.

Reynauld knew this.

If they are gonna ask for more food for the crusade, his family won’t have enough to sell on the market.

They might not be able to feed themselves.

His family would starve.

They would all starve so the crusade could strive.

And their savings… even if they had enough money, the food became more and more expensive, as if provoking the little family.

For a while, Reynauld believed. He was trusting his strength, trusting his neighbors to help – even when they were all bled dry. Even when more and more villagers collapsed from overwork.

Even when he had to ask his young son to help him.

But when he noticed how the child's hands were blistered and bleeding during their flimsy

dinner, his prayers got shorter and shorter.

When he took his rest, he was praying for the church to leave them alone. To not make an example of them.

For the crusade to stop.

For strength to not do what he was thinking of doing every night.

Every time he saw the cross.

He begged for the Holy Light to stop his thoughts, to stop looking for answers in the darkest places.

Until one day he got the news when the tax collectors' carriage would arrive. And which route would it take.

Instead of praying, he kissed his wife and son goodbye, told them he’ll just go out for a while.

Just to see if he can get cheaper food from the nearby city.

They didn’t ask why he went away under such heavy rain.

They didn’t ask why he got in clothes they never saw him use.

They didn’t ask why he needed his old hunting rifle.

The father left on horseback, with a goal in mind. He couldn’t be deterred.

5.

The cultist barely missed the crusader, whose sword hit its target perfectly, skewering the man. Dismas quickly and cleanly took the sword out of the body, getting ready for its next target.

„Blasted lunatic!” he cursed in his next breath, a habit he couldn’t get rid of.

He lost his lance earlier, broken into two when one of the cultists grabbed it, taking him down from his horse. The warhorse, the smart bastard, galloped away looking for safety, leaving the crusader alone. Of course, he was always alone in the worst times of his life.

Luckily his armor was light enough to get up from the ground quickly, prepared for messy battles with quick fights, not cavalry rides. Dismas managed to kill his first attacker, but now he was surrounded. Three cultists with short swords and scythes gained ground against him, trying to get behind him, for a quick stab in his back. The crusader saw more of them in the distance.

Dismas countered an attack from his left, dancing away. He found a wall, so he ran up to it to protect his back at least. The crusader managed to defend himself from another blow. A close attacker got hit with his fist. He noticed the pieces of his broken lance, one piece long enough to grab – luckily for him, it still had its pointy end.

He picked up the piece, now having a weapon in both of his hands. He waved it to make the cultists back away, clutching his sword in the other. Another attacker joined the group, seizing up the cornered man.

Four remaining cultists, with a broken lance and a sword that still felt unusual in his hands.

He had worse odds, right?

Against people where Dismas had the element of surprise. Against innocents trying to protect

themselves more than their valuables.

Not against dark forces prepared to skewer him with claws rather than daggers, then sacrifice his body for their eldritch gods.

Yet he stood there, cursing away his dark thoughts, prepared for a strike to come that he won’t have the means to defend himself.

Alone…

Suddenly, lightning shot through the sky, hitting one of the cultists.

Noticing the sudden confusion of the group, the crusader threw the remaining lance piece at the left one, hitting his throat in perfect accuracy. He gave up his gun, but never lost his aim. Without missing a beat, he charged forward, both hands clutching the sword's hilt, aiming at the heart of the next one. Hit, draw back, kick the body out of the way.

Finally, hee had time to get his sword above his head, striking down the last one in one swing. In the small moment of pause, Dismas looked around, seeing how his comrades gathered next to him. They noticed his trouble, coming up to help him.

Well, that was certainly a nice change of pace.

In the midst of them, a lone sister of battle stood sending lightning through the sky. Her blessing songs reverberated through the battlefield, raising the morale of the troops.

The Matron vestal in action was a terrifying sign indeed.

However her attacks started to draw attention.

The cultist mages summoned more black portals, a getaway for their abominations – they crawled out on tentacles and claws looking for their enemy, to devour and to tear them apart.

The soldiers near them stopped in their tracks, grabbing their heads in pain – the curses reached their minds. One of the mages prepared a crossbow, loading up a black arrow with sinister intent.

The sister's prayer continued.

Dismas felt a warm touch on his shoulder, despite the metal armor protecting it. Through the touch a warm feeling coursed through his veins like lightning, fast and commanding. He knew the others next to him felt the same sensation.

He ran at the enemy, without a second thought. Their Matron commanded them perfectly, never making a mistake. All of them fully trusted her, and she sang through them her terrible and powerful commands.

The crusader never knew he could trust someone so much. Trust his brothers and sisters so

much.

They were a terrifying force of nature, burning up everything in their way. In the name of the

Holy Flame.

Dismas shouted, gladly fueling the fire.

6.

Finding the cart was easy – a slow ride out of the village, on a well traveled road. Considering what Reynauld was about to do, he was wondering why didn’t anyone else try it before.

It was such an easy target. The horses could barely move the heavy carriage, filled with the village's possessions. The white cross on it was the only warning against robbers.

There were two at the horses. One controlling the cart, the other holding a musket. It was smart to think the first one also had some kinda weapon, a sidearm at least.

The hunter would need to take care of them both.

Reynauld didn’t consider himself a good shot. If he had enough time to line up a shot, he could shoot down a deer, even a wolf coming at him, but he’s not gonna have time for that. The cart was slow, easy to catch up on his own horse, Dessie, but still fast enough for him to miss. It could have been so easy to miss.

Unless he got close enough.

One more time, he checked his bullets. One in each chamber, enough to shoot two times without the need to reload. A sidearm on his left hip, and another on his back. He brought the knife from the kitchen, but he would rather not use it. They weren’t meant for such a purpose.

His hood secured tightly, a scarf on his face hid himself well. Not that it would mean anything if he’ll do the job right. If even one of them could get away…

He looked at the cart in front of him. They had to slow down a bit – just got out of the protection of the woods above their heads, the heavy rain poured down on them even stronger.

Now or never.

Reynauld hit the backside of his horse to make it go faster.

He quickly reached them, the rain muffling the horses noises just enough.

He readied his weapon, holding it with both hands.

The horse was close to the cart, barely a meter away.

For a moment, he saw the man look back at him. He was close enough to see the shock in his eyes.

Close enough to hit him.

7.

Is this really all he can do?

Dismas kneeled at the old Vestal side, holding her hand in her final moments.

The arrow hit her clean, even getting it out and closing the wound didn’t help her. Some kinda cursed arrow, making her death slow and painful. Inevitable.

The Vestal accepted Dismas the moment he joined the crusaders. He thought the old hag only did it because of higher orders, taking care of every member of the Order regardless of their past, as the book conveyed. However, Elena was true to him, defending him in battle, making sure he had everything in order, occasionally checking on him how he was doing. Despite the war, the crusader always knew she had his back.

She gave him so much he didn’t deserve.

And now, when the old Matron needed help the most, all he could do is just… be there? Clean her wounds, hold her hand until she rotted away?

Or give her a clean death, cut her throat up while she sleeps so she won’t suffer anymore.

Even now, after all those months of training and fighting, the only thing he can do is kill.

What was even the point of joining.

Dismas was a crusader in name only. He was still just a murderer – nothing had changed at all.

„Son… are you alright?” He felt a hand on his arm.

Elena, while she was still barely able to hold on to her life, fever and poison taking more and more of her – yet she reached out to check on him.

At least pretend to be fine in front of her, you worthless shit.

„I’m sorry, for not being able to help you.” Dismas apologized. For being so helpless.

The vestal chuckled.

„Please, this is the life I have chosen. I am ready.” She tried to sit up, but her body was too weak for such a feat in this state.

„What do you want me to do, sister?” The crusader asked the old vestal.

Anything, please. Let me give something back to you.

After everything I have done.

The crusader chastised himself silently. Even now, I can only think of myself. So selfish.

Elena didn’t notice the man's inner turmoil, her body slowly giving up the fight against the curse.

She could only ask for one thing. She already did everything she could.

„Can you pray for me? The words don’t come to my mind anymore.” She reached up with her hand, the skin starting to get discolored to an unnatural gray color. The veins turned into a sick dark blue color – the poison reached far enough.

Dismas took it with both of his hands, clutching it in a praying manner.

„Will do.”

Then, he said the words he didn’t believe in, praying for a deity he never asked anything before. Forgiveness for such vile acts?

Begging for a murderer like him?

Preposterous. Blasphemy even.

Yet Dismas prayed for the vestal before him, for a woman who accepted him so easily. He prayed for the light not to make her death easier, but to save her. His first real prayer felt so childish. Yet that didn’t stop him.

He closed his eyes, said the words, and his mind, he pleaded.

Holy Flame, if there’s anything you can do, please, heal her.

Dismas felt warm in his hands, warm that swam through him. He felt the warmth reach others in the room. The crusader felt them looking at his way, yet he didn’t stop,

He asked the warm to reach Elena, to help her.

It obeyed his command.

No, it answered his plea.

It reached the Matron's hand, passing through her veins, feeling a dark presence trying to block its way.

As if the curse had the power to stop it.

The warmth passed through the poison, making it escape the body. Through the veins and arteries, it found its way to the heart, asking it to beat the blessing through the body, through every part the poison has reached.

The crusader kept praying.

After an undetermined time passed, he felt the warmth leaving his presence. He panicked, asking it to stay.

It will be alright, he thought he heard.

It wasn’t an answer – it was a thought that reached his mind, calming him.

Everything was on its path, the thought continued.

The crusader, trusting the words of the phenomenon, let go of the presence, accepting whatever outcome. He only stopped praying when the presence left.

Dismas felt everyone looking at him before he even opened his eyes.

He ignored them, looking at Elena.

The Matron sat up – color has returned to her face, the fever left her body. The dark presence of the curse left her.

„A miracle.” he heard a whisper.

„Blessed by the Flame!” he heard a prayer.

The crusader didn’t realize the weight of what he had just done. Yet he knew that he saved her savior's life.

His prayer was answered.

„Brother Dismas.” an old lady's voice reached him.

He felt her hands reaching for him gently caressing his face, touching the wet droplets on it.

When did he even start crying?

All he could do was hug her back, thanking whoever made this possible, thanking her for everything. They stayed there until his sobbing stopped.

The old Matron Vestal spared by the Holy Flame, and the crusader who performed his first and many miracles.

8.

The robber shot, the sound making his horse scared, bucking her up. A red cloud rose up, the hunter couldn’t see if his target died, trying to reign his horse to get back on track.

Reynauld quickly rode after the cart, now to the other side of it. The driver tried to make the horses ride faster to gain some distance from the attacker.

But the cart was still heavy, the horses were still weak, and Reynauld did not hesitate with his next shot.

The familiar red cloud rose up again, disappearing in the rain.

Now that there was no one else who could control the cart, Reynauld grabbed the reins, slowed down the horses and got the cart to a safe and quiet place. To see what the actual loot was.

He stopped the cart and got to the back. He will need time to dig some graves for the dead, but should be faster in this wet ground. Would need to hide the cart and loot too.

He thought of killing his horse after he would get back to his house. The blood on her could be smelled by the hounds of peacekeepers.

They would need horses too if his deed were to be found out, to get away quickly…

But first – Reynauld went to see the barrels in the back of the cart. He opened one of them, checking their contents.

The robber stopped in his tracks.

He expected farm food, meat, or anything the crusades could use from the village's farms. What he got was a barrel full of silver and gold coins – if the other barrels had the same amount, that much money could have made the whole village survive into the next year.

One of his neighbors words come to mind:

„We hid some coins for times like these, maybe we could pay them off to let us keep some food for ourselves. Just enough to get by.”

Farmers like them barely had a few gold coins remaining after the church taxes hit them.

How much did those wretched people earn from their suffering, he thought, his hand gripping his rifle.

If he could take some of it… Just a few handfuls.

If he were to grab too much, he would surely be found… His family would…

There was a sound of grunting behind him.

He grabbed his rifle quickly, reloading it with unpracticed fingers. Of course he ended up missing his target.

He took aim, prepared for any attack. Another grunt, in front of the cart. Reynauld cautiously approached the source of the sound, getting ready to retaliate. Reaching it he realized what happened. His second shot didn’t hit the driver clean enough, the pellets reached his shoulder and arm. There was enough blood to make him think he was dead already. The injury was still grave enough.

But what if the wound wasn’t fatal…

Should he give him a clean death? Or leave with the loot? His face was hidden well enough. He approached the man, still undecided what to do with him. What if he just knocked him out, grabbed some money and left? Maybe he can just tell him he was just close enough, heard the attack and come to help? He was injured enough to make him believe anything right?

Don’t think about the other one, he was dead, his face was hit clear…

The man looked up to him, delirious. In pain, barely able to breath.

Oh.

It was Jeffrey.

Reynauld knew him from his occasional inn visits, where the village and city folks could mingle together.

He did mention how he collected tax after he got drunk enough. He was still a fair man, always paid a few rounds, not expecting to get paid back.

His daughter was a scholar, and taught him and his son how to read and write, free of charge.

His son who had to go to bed hungry every night.

Reynauld raised his gun.

He did not hesitate.