The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] Chapter 14: Chapter 14: The Hands of the Unburied

Read chapter 14 of The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] by Adamus_Auguste on NovelPedia.

Chapter 14: The Hands of the Unburied While Kael shivered in frozen and burning fever in the sewers, the slum's parade ended. Priests stowed away their flames, sermons about Kythra's mercy echoing one last time across the cheerful crowd. The head priest didn't share the slum's enthusiasm. He glanced at the necklace hidden beneath his gown. No reactions, not for the rest of the day. A heretic. Unacceptable. Slamming his ringed staff on the pavement, he forged his way back to the Black Cask bar, commanding. "We're getting answers. Now." "Burn false truths." The other priests fell into step behind him, hands moving in unison to smooth the blazing suns on their gowns. Amusement was over. Now, they were on a divine inquisition. Once back to the bar, they spread around the entrance. Two thugs walked to them, cracking their fingers until they recognised their gowns. A single glance from the group made their muscular arms tremble against their sleeveless jackets and their feet move back. "We've stained our faithful eyes enough. No one enters or leaves until I'm done." The men barricaded the door and windows with their straight backs, while the head priest stormed inside. With a snort at the dancers draped in revealing red silk and men drawing in cheap ale and tobacco, he went to the counter, his red eyes locked not on Silma's face, but on her broad shirt as if he knew what she hid. "Garrick Vane. Now." Silma Reed arched a brow, the brown in her pupils veering red for a heartbeat, her fingers closing on something at the edge of her sleeve. Then, her lips curled, and she flipped the flap in the counter. "Of course, sir. Garrick's door is always open to preachers of the gods. Only, I'm afraid another than Kythra stole his faith." "And he'll burn for it, like all those blind or arrogant enough to ignore the truth blazing in front of them." The head priest didn't talk; he prophesied as he opened the office door. Garrick was there, seated behind his oak table in his striped suit, a feather dancing across paper. Gold crowns piled beside his open ledger glinted in the soft glow of the oil lamplight. He gazed up before gesturing politely at the leather chair opposite him. "Please, take a—" The head priest sat without waiting, making him pause, then continue with a sigh. "A seat. To what do I owe your visit, Flamebearer Aurel? Last I remember was you closing down my bar and chasing my girls out to pray before the harvest festival. What was it?" Garrick tapped his forefinger on his forehead. "This sinful dump tests the limits of our faith. The less time we spend in it, the less we'll offend Kythra." "My opinion did not change, Garrick. The place's worse than it was eight years ago, but enough with it. I came for grave matters; a heretic in the streets. The crown abolished the enforcers' raids because you took an oath-bound vow to develop and keep the slums in check. So, either you couldn't follow our instructions, or you're incompetent." Aurel leaned forward, flamboyant hair cascading on the desk. Garrick tilted his head, lips beginning to purse in a line of cold iron. They stretched into an amiable smile the next second, as if they had forgotten what they tried to do. "I followed the rules, as I do during each festival. My men were holed up where they should be. The mad dog kept his pups in his sewers, and Joss Renn knows not to light fires he can't put out. Someone... anchored a truth on his own?" "A false truth! An unsanctioned heretic. On your streets." "A false truth," Garrick repeated, but his fingers found his chin. "I can't let the heretic wander as he likes. Worry not, Aurel, I'll catch and teach him that nothing escapes the wise gaze of the gods. May they forgive my momentary 'incompetence'." The lamplight cast grim shadows on both their faces for a couple of silent seconds. Then, Aurel smirked. "As you should. On a more festive note, I heard stories during the parade. Whispers crackle about... treasures. Nothing our temple should be i