Lance led them through the gates of Hillsedge, and as they entered they were welcomed with smiles and cheers by all of those that saw them. They had been away for nearly a week and in that time had closed a dozen rifts, even more than they had in the week prior. They’d been focused on those that were difficult for the regular soldiers and knights to reach, the ones that had been slowly reinforcing the ever-growing standing army that stood between Hillsedge and Lataxia. They’d brought refugees from far flung settlements to safety, protected farmsteads from encroaching monsters that sought to burn their crops, and healed everyone on the way.

  The civilians yelled praises and thanks to Michael as he passed. Many of their faces were familiar to him, but most were simply those who’d heard of his actions by word of mouth. Stories from the further flung villages he’d passed through on the way to Hillsedge had started to trickle in even as his deeds locally had begun to grow. Add to that the fact that he regularly healed everyone in the town who needed it, from the soldiers who had been wounded to the smallest child with a cough, and before long everyone had known who he was. Among those that praised him were many who had begun to join him in his prayers. He saw a fair few freshly made symbols of the six, forged from small slivers of iron or even crafted from pieces of wood. In a few rare cases he’d actually seen some that had been made of gold or silver among the town’s wealthier inhabitants.

  The soldiers' and knights' praise was directed at Lance rather than Michael. In their minds it was the commanding officer that deserved the most recognition for the squad’s successes. Their eyes would often drift to Michael when they made these praises, but Lance didn’t mind. His goal was to combat the rifts and that was exactly what they’d been doing. Their efforts had actually freed up a number of other resources to start preparing to clear the standing army outside of Lataxia, though there had been news of other groups of rift monsters growing in other areas as well.

  Michael hopped off his horse, his confidence with them having grown significantly over the past month, and he handed the reins to a squire with a smile.

  “When do you think they’ll start building it?” Ollie asked him.

  “Building what?”

  “The statue of you in the center of the town.”

  “Ha.”

  Michael and Ollie began making their way to the infirmary, which was always his first stop after they’d arrived back. Sometimes Ollie joined him to shoot the shit, and other times he just went to his spot in the barracks and collapsed for a few hours.

  “I just hope I get to have one next to yours. They’ll probably make you taller even though next to me you look like you could be a joey, but I’d just like to know I had some kind of representation collecting birdshit somewhere.”

  Michael stopped to heal a baby with a bad cough that a woman brought to him.

  “May Seras watch over you,” he said to her with a smile before they kept walking.

  “Absolutely ridiculous,” said Ollie. “At this rate the statue will be made of gold.”

  “Isn’t gold too soft to make a good statue?”

  “They’ll reforge it every month and make you even prettier each time.”

  “Oh, then that’s okay then… In that case your statue should probably be bronze.”

  “Bronze? What about silver?”

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  “Lance’s would obviously be the silver one.”

  “Fuck. Got me there.”

  They reached the infirmary and found about two dozen injured waiting for them. The medics didn’t get in his way, in fact, they cleared out in order to make it easier for him to get to each patient, and actually directed him to those who most needed his ministrations.

  Once they were done they went to the barracks where Michael stripped off his armor and checked his equipment. He’d been offered a new suit of armor multiple times, but he was worried about how that would affect his movement. He’d been wearing this suit for years at this point. It had gotten a fair bit tighter though, and he definitely had wider gaps between each piece than before. He sighed. He’d need to give in eventually. It might take some getting used to, but he’d prefer that to have a spear sink into his ribs.

  Ollie threw himself into the bed next to Michael's and yawned.

  “Not getting a drink with Blake this time?”

  “Nah, she told me she just wanted a hot bath and a clean bed. When I told her I’d be happy to join her in both she said if I interrupted her taking a hot bath for a root she’d disembowel me.”

  “Ah. Well I’m sure she’ll invite you to dirty her bed again sometime.”

  “I’m sure too. I’m a hard man to resist.”

  Michael chuckled and threw on a cleanish outfit. Ollie didn’t ask where he was headed, since he already knew. Michael was always a man of routines, both in his last life and in this one. He established them quickly, and rarely deviated. He walked out of the barracks, saying a dozen more hellos as he walked down the street until he reached the infirmary again. First he headed in to heal soldiers and knights, then he usually came back around an hour later when everyone knew he was back in town to heal anyone else that needed it. After that he went to the stables to ensure the health of the horses as well, which he had not considered doing until Laird suggested it. With a normal healer it would be considered a baffling use of resources, but with his surplus of energy and healing ability it was a welcome boon.

  With that done he headed to the largest of the three taverns in town, the Smiling Room. Inside was a largely familiar crowd with a few fresh faces mixed in. There were nobles wearing golden pendants of the six around their necks, refugees sharing prayers to Seras that their families would be safe, and even several soldiers and knights speaking among themselves.

  At Michael's entrance there were a number of waves, bows, and hellos which he returned with a smile. He went to a place that had been reserved for him at the bar, in spite of the fact he had said more than a dozen times to let someone else sit there, and after just a moment a hunk of meat, a stack of vegetables and a pint of ale were placed in front of him.

  “Ser Michael,” said Ser Vaughn. “I am glad you returned safely, I prayed for you.”

  “Thanks Vaughn,” said Michael, “But save your prayers for the others or yourself. The gods already give me plenty of attention.”

  “I’ve got time for both,” he replied.

  Michael laughed. “How’s your boy? Get any more letters?”

  “I did! He’s started riding. I’m sad to miss it, but Iselda is as strong a rider as I, so he has a good teacher.”

  Michael nodded, this was his favourite part of the regular gatherings that had organically started, just talking to the followers of the divine that had joined him. He began by getting a meal at the tavern regularly, and soon those curious about the divine had begun showing up to ask him questions. He’d explained everything as best he could, but truthfully there wasn’t much to say. He had no scripture to teach, no grand stories about the gods and what they had done. He shared his anecdotes, and what little whispers he heard from the gods during the gathering, but otherwise they simply said some prayers and spoke to one another. If that was the closest thing the divine would have to a church that was something he could live with.

  The divine had been quieter for him since he’d become their champion, but he could swear their voices were beginning to build again. He wasn’t certain if it was because of the new converts, prayers, and dedications of deeds to their names, but that was his guess. As their strength continued to build he’d likely be able to ask them himself.

  He stayed at the tavern for several hours, refraining from eating any more as he knew supplies were beginning to dwindle, but having two more pints of ale as he heard about Magda’s new work weaving tabards, Squire Fletch’s troubles with a new horse at the stable, and Lionel’s argument with his sergeant.

  He was walking out of the tavern after about thirty separate goodbyes when he saw Ollie and Laird approaching him.

  “A rift has opened in the village of Hillbloom to the East. It’s big,” said Laird.

  “Other soldiers are on the way, but the nearest diviner was already killed.”

  Michael ran for the barracks to retrieve his armor.