The last thing I remember before the world turned into a green blender was the floor suddenly changing its mind about being at the bottom and rushing toward the ceiling. Then, someone gave the back of my head a heavy thwack.
“There’s going to be a bruise,” I managed to think, and for some reason, I let out a misplaced giggle. Absentmindedly, I scratched the stubborn beard on my chin—an old habit. A nervous laugh always runs ahead of my prayers, like a scout before heavy infantry.
I opened my eyes. The world here was higher than any sky. Clouds burned with a warm ochre, and the sun shone from the very heart of the space. Looking at it was both terrifying and joyful—the way one usually looks at the truth when it finally deigns to appear. Such height makes you want to fall silent. And walk.
Ahead was a staircase. Stone steps ascended like a final melody toward its last note. Somewhere halfway up, I realized that even in visions, Paladins don't get rid of shortness of breath. My armor grew heavier; every strap reminded me exactly where it chafed my skin.
"Tyr, hold my step," I hissed through my teeth.
At the top was a platform. And Him, who needed no introduction. The One-Handed God needs no subtitles. The scales in His hand seemed as natural as the sky itself. His gaze was steady, like a paragraph of law.
"Welcome to the judgment, Gellia Servatius," Tyr’s voice filled my entire consciousness. "Today we decide if you are worthy to carry my oath, or if you are an oathbreaker."
The first orb fell from his palm—dazzlingly white.
"The goal was noble," Tyr’s voice resonated in my bones. "You carried retribution, guided by duty."
The second orb dropped into the bowl—and it was black as coal.
"Your oath is broken," the God stated impassively. "You swore to avenge your monastery by the Black Wolf’s hand. You lived by this hatred for seven years, but your sword remained dry. The Wolf is dead, but it was not you who killed him. You allowed the goal to slip away, Gellia. Your oath crumbled into dust beneath the feet of strangers."
I flinched. It was a truth that burned hotter than any fire. I hadn't fulfilled the very thing for which I had left the order.
The third orb—white again. A flash of pure light.
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"You fought honestly. Even where steel is but a game, you did not drop your dignity. Your honor was visible in every step."
The fourth orb plunged down—and it was blacker than the deepest abyss.
"You stopped seeking," Tyr barked. "You satisfied yourself with a 'convenient' culprit. You accepted the name of the Black Wolf as the ultimate answer so as not to ask more questions. You betrayed the memory of your brothers because seeking the real killers was too painful. You closed your eyes to the truth for the sake of simple revenge."
I staggered. “Convenient culprit”? Those words hit me like a blow to the gut. Two white. Two black. The scales froze in a perfect, terrifying balance.
I looked up at Tyr, and then a small, nasty pebble of doubt stirred within me. These judgments... they were too perfect. Too similar to the lectures hammered into us at the monastery.
And then I noticed it. A thin, perfectly human trickle of blood leaked from "Tyr’s" nostril. The figure flickered like a dying candle in a draft.
"You aren't Him," I whispered.
The figure disintegrated into sparks. The golden radiance died out, leaving me in a soft, warm haze.
"The main thing is your faith, Gellia. But faith must rest on the truth, no matter how terrible it is."
The light around me thickened, turning into images. I saw my monastery again. That very day. The fire. But now the veil of revenge had fallen from my eyes.
I saw the "bandits" breaking into the cells. But beneath their filthy cloaks, it wasn't the rusted steel of raiders that gleamed. I saw flawlessly white tabards with the symbol of Milather. I saw the faces—calm, focused faces of Paladins, my "brothers" in faith. They weren't looting. They were performing a "purge." They were killing my mentors by an order that came from above.
Inside me, something snapped with a crunch. The entire core upon which my life rested—faith in Milather, the mercy of Ilmater, the purity of Erthrusia—crumbled to dust.
My monastery wasn't burned by the Wolf’s bandits. It was burned by those I worshiped.
"Beware of Akolis, Gellia," the warm voice spoke again. "Currently, they are stronger than you. Become stronger—and only then go there. To ask your questions."
I stood before a door, simple and wooden. The scales had vanished. The void in my chest was enormous, but now it was clean.
"I no longer serve Milather," I whispered, and my voice sounded harder than steel. "I do not serve Erthrusia."
I scratched my beard and gave a bitter smirk.
"My oath is wider now. I will bring Justice to these lands. Real Justice. And I will start with Akolis. I will settle the score with every 'saint' who hides bloodied hands under a white cloak. If Milather is alive—he will answer to me. If not—I will destroy his cult to its foundation."
Honor is not an accounting tally. Honor is when you find the strength to rise against your own god if he turns out to be an executioner.
I stepped through the doorway. The world turned off. Ahead lay the Wastes, Akolis, and a truth I intended to tear from this world with my teeth.
Iconoclast Rising.
Truth.
Key Analysis:
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The Glitch in the Vision: The bloody nose of the "God" is a classic sign that the mind (or an external force) is struggling to maintain a simulation. Gellia’s intuition is her strongest weapon here.
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The Great Betrayal: The reveal that her own Order—the followers of Milather—burned her monastery is a game-changer. It recontextualizes the entire first volume. The "Black Wolf" was just a scapegoat used by Erthrusia to cover up their internal purges.
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The New Oath: Gellia is no longer seeking retribution; she is seeking Justice. Her target is now Akolis, and she’s going there not as a pilgrim, but as an inquisitor.
Questions for the readers:
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The Purge: Why would the Church of Milather burn their own monastery? What were they trying to hide or "cleanse"?
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Gellia’s Faith: Now that she has renounced Milather, where do you think her power will come from? Can a Paladin exist on pure Will alone?
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The Voice: Who do you think was the "Warm Voice" that showed her the truth after the fake Tyr faded?
?? SUPPORT THE JOURNEY & UNLOCK THE DM VAULT
Oath of the Iconoclast mechanics or the secret history of the Purge of the Word, join us on Patreon!
DM Vault for Chapter 15:
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New Subclass: Oath of the Iconoclast. Rules for a Paladin who draws power from the destruction of corrupt institutions.
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Mechanic: The Tally of Orbs. A social/spiritual encounter system you can use for your own players' trials.
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Lore: The Erthrusian Heresy. What really happened at the Library of the Word.
[Link to Patreon — Break the Scales]