——The Holy City of Holylight.
A few days had passed since the civil war; already, efforts were underway to restore the Holy City. While the streets were being cleared of bodies and debris, mass funerals took place throughout the city. White and Gran, as representatives of the Holy Church, were kept busy during the fallout. Queen recovered as Holylight did, starting to patrol the streets with her goons in tow.
Whenever she did, passersby greeted her enthusiastically and without fail.
“Lady Queen! Thank you for everything you do for us!”
“Lady Queen, please take these fresh fruits! We got them in this morning.”
“Lady Queen, thank you for the other day! Please enjoy this bottle of wine tonight.”
As long as there were people in the streets, it seemed that Queen wouldn’t find a moment of peace in the city. Even though she always replied to her adoring subjects with a curt “Uh-huh,” the people only seemed to fawn over the brutal Holy Maiden. Despite her brutish demeanor, the citizens loved to see her mow down threats to their livelihood. She was a dreadful force to her enemies, but a bona fide hero to those she protected. Even her gruff goons crinkled their grisly mugs when handed bottles of liquor or packs of meat with words of thanks.
Fuji, who followed closely behind Queen, grinned at the bottle in his hand. “You’ll have us spoiled on good wine, my Queen.”
She clicked her tongue. “Spoiled is right.”
“These gifts alone could keep all of us fed if we patrolled every day,” Fuji teased.
“With what time, dumbass?” Queen spat.
Showered with roaring cheers and adoring looks, Queen and her entourage finally stopped their march at the entrance to the Holy City’s dungeons.
“You’re all dismissed. Get lost,” Queen commanded with a wave of her hand. Her goons immediately obeyed, breaking formation and dispersing into the city. It never even crossed their mind to question Queen’s orders; if she told them to run straight into an inferno, they’d do it without a second thought—they’d been conditioned that way.
Queen jerked her chin and the dungeon guards rushed to pull the gate open. She walked inside and descended the stairs, down to the soot-coated corridor that stunk of burning fish oil. She clicked her tongue again. “This place always smells like dead fish.”
On this continent, while the rich—the nobles and merchants—lit their homes with bright and odorless Light Spell Stones, the poor were forced to burn oil pressed from boiled-then-dried herrings or sardines, leaving the leftover husks to be turned into fertilizer. While fish oil was affordable to the poor, they had to contend with the stench and smoke that clung to the ceiling and walls.
Queen marched through the corridor until she came to a cell where a Satanist sat in a chair, reading a book by the light of another oil lamp—Warlkin, who’d saved Queen’s life in the recent battle.
“Nice book nook, Satanist. Whatcha reading about? How to kill a god?” Queen taunted.
Warlkin answered after a moment. “Took you long enough. Did you finally decide on my date of execution?”
“Something like that. Get out.” Queen ripped Warlkin’s cell door clean off, sending the bent and broken lock clanging onto the floor. She began walking back the way she came, Warlkin obediently following behind her.
They quickly made it to the surface, where Warlkin shielded his eyes from the bright daylight he hadn’t seen in days. He cast a look toward the city center bustling with people hard at work rebuilding the city. A series of new rules and regulations had been announced since the battle ended—it would be a significant adjustment for the citizens of the Holy City, but they seemed to be taking it in stride, confident that no ruler could serve them worse than the nobles had. Already, White had been distributing, for free, the vast store of Water Spell Stones Tahara had passed on to her. Tahara had successfully demonstrated what kind of ruler they could expect.
“People are resilient, aren’t they? No matter how many times they’re beaten down, they get back up and fight again,” Warlkin muttered—the Satanist in him was dead and gone. For Warlkin, this was also an admission of how fragile his past self had been.
With no regard for his comment, Queen chucked a leather bag at Warlkin’s feet. “Special exception. I hereby absolve you in the name of Sir Zero.”
“Absolve...? What’s your agenda?!”
Holy Maidens had the authority to pardon criminals in the form of absolution. Queen had invoked this authority, just as she had once done for Fuji. “I won’t say it again. It’s for Sir Zero,” Queen said, avoiding Warlkin’s gaze.
The former Satanist warily reached for the bag—it was stuffed with silver coins, along with official documentation of his absolution. This seemed like a generous offer, especially after Queen’s claim that it was only for Zero’s sake. Levelheaded or not, Warlkin was still a terrorist who had plotted to assassinate the Holy Maidens. “What is this supposed to be? Don’t tell me this is your thanks for helping you in that battle.”
“No one needed your help, numbnuts. Thank Sir Zero,” Queen said. Clearly, Warlkin’s statement had hit the mark. In part, her generosity might have been caused by the butterflies that still danced in her stomach after seeing Zero, but she also liked to face worthy adversaries. She must have held Warlkin in some high regard after he’d used Tartarus to nearly end her life and even squared off against Jack without any sign of fear. At any rate, common sense played no part in her decision-making—she was a hundred-percent driven by impulse and emotion.
“I never expected a pardon from the Holy Maiden I tried to kill, much less charity...” Warlkin said.
“Take the cash and beat it. Go die in a pile of shit for all I care.” Queen turned on her heels and strode off—a dry goodbye, just like she preferred.
Warlkin watched her leave for some time before making for the castle gates, where Fuji awaited him as if he’d expected the pardoned prisoner. “Did you put that into her head?” Warlkin muttered, eyeing the document in his hand.
Fuji scoffed. “My Queen doesn’t take well to suggestions. You should know that better than most.”
For a professional assassin and terrorist, their target became their obsession. They needed intimate knowledge of their target’s likes and dislikes, commutes, favorite foods, sleep schedule, and anything else that could possibly affect their mission. Ironically, Warlkin knew not just Queen, but all three Holy Maidens better than just about anyone.
Fuji leaned back against the castle gates, arms crossed, and lazily asked, “So? Where are you going now, ex-Satanist?”
“I have a second chance at life... I think I’ll head East.”
“To Lady Luna’s territory?”
“I want to see what kind of ruler the so-called Demon Lord turns out to be.”
Fuji nodded, for he shared Warlkin’s curiosity—where was the Demon Lord, or the Fallen Angel Lucifer, taking this country? “Take this. Keep me updated on the happenings over there.” He handed Warlkin a shoulder bag.