Shortly after the [Otherworlder], Zack Adder, left the parlor to work on his [Prayer].

  Rosimund was left at the supper table with the [Priestess], Maria.

  The [Hero] had stormed off, abnormally frustrated.

  Rosimund wanted to sigh, but held it in.

  Zack Adder…

  At first, Rosimund had been upset, too. What was the [Otherworlder] doing, wasting time on magic? He had been dismissed from [Archery] training to research local monsters. Not to poke around looking for secret magic spells.

  It was highly suspicious, and on top of all his other behavior…

  Sneaking around the castle.

  Shirking training.

  Riling up the [Priest]s with his defeat of the [Hero] in sparring…

  It didn’t look like the man was taking things seriously.

  But then he got up and took the report from the [Priest] on duty to watch over the man with the unique skill.

  Two new [Skills] acquired today.

  Did study the local monsters, and how to fight them.

  Not only studied books of theology, but even took notes on how to please the Goddess. He had made a mess in doing so, but that was only more evidence that he was making an effort.

  It was only just before supper that the man had idly flipped through A Compendium of Magic Spells.

  It appeared that what Zack really desired was to become a [Mage].

  But he hadn’t shirked his duty.

  Rosimund could sympathize.

  He had struggled mightily to learn the [Skills] needed of a Knight, and in his own training to improve them, though he kept that to himself these days.

  But he had had the time to do so.

  And, with that time, years and years of effort, he had raised his level to forty, unheard of for most Knights.

  Even top ranking adventurers of advanced age rarely reached such a level.

  It had been the result of sheer honest effort.

  Zack… wouldn’t have the time to apply himself to magic.

  Even with his unique skill, it would be the effort of years to acquire the [Magic Control] and [Magic Perception] skills.

  Maria, who had been born with both those skills and the very rare [Oracle] skill, could never understand.

  Nor could Sir Bradley, the [Hero], who had been granted those skills and more from the Goddess herself.

  They were blessed with talent.

  Zack Adder, it seemed, was not.

  But he was trying, in his own way.

  He looked across the table, at where the [Priestess] still sat, fuming.

  He frowned at her.

  “Maria.”

  She flicked her eyes to him.

  “You need to back off.”

  Her frown deepened.

  “And who are you to tell me what to do, [Knight]?”

  She was the Church’s representative in the [Hero’s Party].

  And with the current balance of power, the Church superseded even the Kingdom that had granted it shelter, a century prior.

  There was shockingly little gratitude from the organization and its members.

  Rosimund furrowed his own bushy eyebrows back at the young woman.

  “I am the [Guide] of the [Hero’s Party], [Priestess]. I’ve said nothing thus far about your attempts to get closer to the [Hero], and I still won’t. But whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re trying to push on him, it’s too much. He’s angry. That’s the worst possible state of mind for training.”

  Anger. Resentment. Frustration.

  All those emotions closed off the mind and disrupted training.

  Stress and relaxation had to be balanced. Competition spurred growth.

  The [Priestess] merely huffed through her nose, rose from her seat, and strode away from the table and out the parlor as well.

  Rosimund did sigh, now.

  He had been trying not to push too hard.

  Had he, though?

  Upon reflection, no.

  He was giving the [Hero] and the [Otherworlder] space.

  He provided direction, but didn’t force things.

  He gave advice, but didn’t make demands.

  He was being flexible.

  No, the [Priestess] had to be the cause of the [Hero]’s poor mood.

  But he couldn’t order her to back off.

  Not with the Church’s dominance over the Kingdom.

  This was going to push back their training progress.

  Damn the Hunter’s Guild. Depending on how things went tomorrow, perhaps he would just insist they send over someone to start giving the [Otherworlder] specialized [Scout] training.

  He didn’t take to [Running], but he picked up [Archery] fast enough.

  It was likely a matter of aptitude and temperament.

  As for the [Hero], it was risky, but…

  [The Shield].

  If the [Hero] remained in a bad mood by noon tomorrow, he would insist they meet.

  The Church could complain all they liked. He had the right, as the [Guide].

  He stood, summoned the maids to clean up the table, and retired to his office to officially take in the reports, adjust the training plans, and plan out the first steps of the [Hero]’s journey to find [Excalibur].

  Then came the summons.

  The [Priest]’s face was hidden in the shadows of his grey cowl as he stood in the door, a silent insistence for immediate attendance.

  Rosimund rose from his desk, and followed the [Priest] to another office in which sat the enchanted mirror.

  He adjusted his tunic, ensuring there were no wrinkles, and stepped in front of the mirror.

  Rather than showing his own reflection, the world within the mirror was hazy, obscured as though by fog, revealing only the shadowy outline of the the power behind the Church.

  The Pope himself.

  The man who, over one hundred years ago, had founded the Church, traveled the world, been expelled from numerous other countries, and eventually sought and received refuge within the Kingdom of Forti.

  Rosimund clasped his hands formally, and dipped his head.

  “Yes, your Excellency?”

  The [Priest] by the door clicked his tongue as he left, but the [Guide] of the [Hero’s Party] need not bow and scrape, even before the Pope.

  At least, not in private.

  They spoke for some time, about the [Hero]’s request to meet with [The Shield], and then to Rosimund’s surprise, about the other [Otherworlder], Zack Adder.

  Even as they talked, Rosimund’s mind raced.

  Asking about secret magic spells seemed to have put the Church on high alert.

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  Unusually so.

  Obviously there were secret magic spells. Everyone knew this, that most magic spells were kept secret.

  And now the Pope himself was suggesting disposal? After he had been the one to recommend adding the [Otherworlder] to the [Hero’s Party].

  “We do not want another situation, like with her.”

  The old man refused to even speak her name.

  Amelia, [The Friendly].

  They had not only lost control of her, after tracking her down, but she had suborned the archbishop who [Appraised] her and sent the initial report. The man was now reduced to a mere messenger, a go-between to deliver letters back and forth between the Church and the unique skill holder.

  He made bland affirmative noises, making sure he didn’t commit to anything.

  The [Guide]’s role was a mission directly from the Goddess herself.

  It was reflected as such in that it was a [Title].

  Even the Pope of the Church lacked the authority to contradict the Goddess’ will.

  The meeting ended inconclusively, and the mirror faded to the dull sheen of brushed metal, hardly reflective at all.

  Rosimund had only promised to take the Pope’s wishes into consideration.

  It was premature to remove the [Otherworlder] from the [Hero’s Party] and remand him into the Church’s custody.

  Especially given his personal relationship with the [Hero].

  Although his interest in learning about his ultimate foe—the [Demon King]—was lacking, the [Hero] had taken a shine to sparring practice after his losses to the [Otherworlder].

  Sir Bradley saw Zack Adder as something of a rival.

  If nothing else, the [Otherworlder] was useful in that regard.

  He would remain in the party.

  For now.

  Rosimund was hopeful that [The Learn] might yet prove useful.

  [Skills], once learned, didn’t fade.

  It would be a lot of work for the [Otherworlder], but his efforts wouldn’t go unrewarded.

  The next morning, the core members of the [Hero’s Party] took breakfast together, as usual.

  The [Hero] seemed to be feeling some regret for his conduct the night before.

  “I want to invite Zack to breakfast on a regular basis,” he said as they sat down, before the food was served. He pointedly didn’t look at the [Priestess], although…

  She failed to react to what the [Hero] said.

  He continued, “We can simply hold meetings about secret information in the evenings.”

  Rosimund nodded.

  “As you wish, Sir Bradley.”

  He clapped his hands in the rhythm to summon a maid, and sent her to fetch the [Otherworlder].

  It was early, and would cut into his sleep somewhat, but that should be fine.

  Perhaps he would even report some success with the [Prayer] skill.

  The sound of pounding feet gave the lie to that hope.

  The door slammed open, and the maid panted as she gave her report.

  “Sir Zack… haah, haah, is missing!”

  Two grey-robed [Priests] dashed down the hall behind her.

  “What?!” Bradley jumped to his feet, knocking his chair back.

  “Huh?!”

  Even Maria reacted with shock.

  “He wasn’t in his room,” the maid continued.

  Rosimund also stood. “Search the courtyard and the book room,” he ordered, and the maid turned to spread the word.

  Faintly, he could hear “Check the kitchens and the scullery!”

  He turned back to the [Hero]. “Sir Bradley, please, sit and eat. I’m sure they’ll find Sir Zack soon enough. You know how he wanders.”

  Bradley looked concerned, but nodded and picked up his chair and sat back down.

  Maria sat as well, looking pale and confused.

  Rosimund frowned at her, and when she noticed, she squeaked and averted her gaze.

  So they ate a tense breakfast, and even when they were done, Zack Adder was still missing.

  Sir Henry, the Squad Leader, arrived with several knights and a [Priest] in tow.

  “[Hero’s Guide],” Henry said, “I recommend locking down the Castle and beginning a thorough search.”

  Rosimund nodded, his stomach sinking.

  “Sir Bradley, please accompany Sir Henry back to your room while we investigate.”

  “Is Zack alright?”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Maria remained seated and pale.

  Rosimund continued, “And I will be taking part in the investigation. Rest assured, Sir Bradley, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Is it demons?”

  Everyone twitched and focused on the [Hero].

  “It could have been demons, right? Infiltrating the castle?”

  Rosimund clenched his jaw.

  “Aye, it could be. It’s unlikely, but… Anyway, we’re locking down the Castle, and for your security, I’d ask that you return to your room with Sir Henry and his knights.”

  Bradley nodded, and he and the knights all left.

  Maria got up to leave as well, but Rosimund pinned her with a glare.

  “Not you, [Priestess].”

  She squeaked again, refusing to meet his gaze, and sat back down.

  The [Guide] moved and stood over her, looming.

  “Out with it, [Priestess]. Did you have a hand in this? Where is Sir Zack?”

  “I, I don’t know…”

  She folded instantly.

  “I wanted him out of the party, that disgusting [Otherworlder] forsaken by Goddess Arianna, so I, er…”

  “Out with it.”

  “I made a sweetroll… you know what a glutton he is, and laced it with grymvahen dust. Just enough to make him ill, so he could be removed from the party! He really has no business being in the [Hero’s Party], not someone Goddess Arianna has forsaken, surely you agree!”

  She found her voice and spoke forcefully at the end.

  Rosimund glowered at her.

  “Who put you up to this?”

  “Who? Nobody.”

  “And who aided you in making the sweetroll?”

  “Nobody! I can do at least that much!” she protested.

  “You stupid girl… You absolute buffoon.” Rosimund bit back his rage and left it at that.

  “You will come with me, and keep your mouth shut.”

  The firmness of his voice startled her, but she stood silently.

  Together, they walked down the halls to the [Otherworlder]’s room, Rosimund giving orders to passing maids and [Priests] as he went.

  By the time they arrived, the room was guarded by knights to prevent disturbance, and they entered.

  It was a small room, bare.

  Not fitting for a member of the [Hero’s Party].

  Maria again refused to meet his gaze.

  The bedding was rumpled, though only as if one had sat on it, not slept in it. The trunk was open and empty.

  On the desk was a silver tray, with a now-cold sweetroll crusted with dried honey, a segment cut out and resting on a fork.

  Rosimund turned back to Maria and saw her frowning.

  But she remained silent, as he had ordered.

  Cautiously, he moved close, and gently wafted the air above the sweetroll towards his face.

  There was a strong, nutty scent to it.

  Entirely too much grymvahen dust to simply make one ill.

  This much would have knocked out an entire squadron of knights.

  For one man, it was a fatal dose.

  One of the poison testers on staff soon arrived and confirmed the [Guide]’s inexpert opinion.

  A fatal dose indeed.

  But…

  It didn’t seem as though any of the sweetroll had been consumed.

  Rosimund cleared the room and closed the door and turned to the [Priestess].

  “You imbecile, speak truly: were you trying to kill the [Otherworlder]?”

  Tears swam in her eyes as she hissed back, keeping her voice down. “No! Truly, I only meant to make him ill! And anyway, look, he didn’t eat any of it!”

  Rosimund furrowed his brow. “It seems he very nearly did.”

  “But he didn’t!”

  “And why not, do you think?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “So where is he?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Rosimund sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This was sloppy, [Priestess]. Words escape me for how foolish this was.”

  “Hmph! He deserved it!”

  “Oh?” Rosimund raised an eyebrow. “And do you think Sir Bradley would agree?”

  “He, he doesn’t know what’s best for the [Party]!”

  “Perhaps,” the [Guide] admitted, “but how do you think he will react when he finds out you attempted to poison his friend with a fatal dose?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose!”

  Rosimund simply glared at her, and slowly it dawned on her that he was serious.

  “You—you wouldn’t. I’m the [Priestess]… I’m the [Oracle]…”

  “And you’re a poisoner, and incompetent besides,” Rosimund said coldly. “Better to replace you now with another [Priest], one who’s not such a failure.”

  “You can’t! Sir Bradley and I…!”

  Rosimund raised a hand, stopping her. She was speaking too loudly.

  “This,” he pointed at the poisoned sweetroll, “can disappear, as though it never happened. But that depends on you.”

  “Huh?” she said with a dumb expression.

  Stupid girl.

  “You are going to respect my authority as the [Guide], [Priestess]. You will defer to my judgment, and you will give up your veto over my decisions, regardless of the influence of the Church.”

  “I will not!” she squawked.

  “You will,” he insisted, “or I will inform Sir Bradley of everything you’ve done.”

  Frustration contorted the woman’s face into a repulsive mask, and tears ran down her face, but in the end, she agreed.

  The story became thus:

  Agents of the [Demon King] infiltrated the Castle and kidnapped Sir Zack, thinking him the [Hero].

  Signs indicate he was taken alive.

  There was never any poisoned sweetroll.

  Bradley was crushed.

  He couldn’t believe that it had happened, nor that the last time he had seen his friend, his rival, he had flipped out on him.

  Told him to stop pursuing his dreams.

  What kind of [Hero] was he if he couldn’t even protect his own teammates?

  He burned with righteous fury.

  The [Demon King].

  He was going to make him pay.

  And he was going to rescue Zack Adder.

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