Written by: AtheistBasementDragon
Edited by: The Usual Gang of Drunken Perverted Idiots

...Hoburns...

Robel knelt in front of the King.

“Raise your head,” the King said, “and speak your mind.”

“Majesty, I come with a petition for you... a request, which if favorably looked upon, will swell the hearts of the people with loyalty for their King.” Robel said looking upwards at his lord.

“And that request is?” The King asked, a cynical and doubtful expression on his face, his brow was furrowed and his eyes stared straight at Robel’s own.

“Though you have granted permission to build one temple, we humbly request that this permission be expanded beyond the Capital.” Robel said after a deep breath, silently glad that Remedios had left the room.

That didn’t mean nobody else was shocked. The nobles and some of the priests who were present were caught between two responses... some of them swallowed hard, these were men and women who had seen the Sorcerer King’s power up close, his first and second battle with Jaldabaoth, or who had seen it when he personally freed them from the captivity of the demihumans, this included Northern & Southern nobles, though more of the former than the latter. There were a few priests and even paladins present as well who shared this reaction... but the other response was made up of gasps of surprise and anger at a perceived blasphemy. This response was held chiefly by people who had not seen the Sorcerer King’s power, but only heard stories. Stories which they had decided were exaggerated... and these protests were made by the remaining nobles, most of the paladins, and most of the priests, the latter two groups being the more deeply devout with respect to the existing and accepted gods.

'Doppel-Caspond' belonged to neither group, he kept his face entirely neutral, he already knew that Ainz was a god, and in his heart the only reluctance he felt about openly having temples to Ainz was that he didn’t believe humans could build one good enough on their own... and he did not want to risk the plans of the Supreme One by misplaying his hand.

“Tell me,” he said, “Do you believe the Sorcerer King to be a god?”

“I do.” Robel answered unflinchingly. “If he is not a god, I cannot picture what one is. Look at what has been done just today. Through the power of the Sorcerer King, those who have acted in his name slaughtered hundreds of demihumans without a single loss of their own, an entire village preserved, our greatest merchant saved from being some monster’s dinner. If a being could turn humans into a force capable of that, it seems to me that we can only call such a being a god. Therefore, it is proper that he should be revered as one, and Black Justice requests the permission of the King to begin proper worship and services in his honor. Though we are ever grateful to your majesty for allowing us to break ground on a temple here, it is our fervent wish that this permission be expanded, for surely as our ranks grow in this place, we believe they will grow elsewhere.”

“Blasphemer! Blasphemer! Blasphemer!” a priest shrieked, having completely lost his mind at the suggestion of a seventh god.

Robel looked over his shoulder at the man, an older robed gentleman, who was flailing where he stood as he struggled to get free of the grip of a much younger, stronger paladin who was presently restraining him.

“It is not blasphemy to acknowledge a god, it is blasphemy to deny one. YOU are the blasphemer old man, not me.” Robel said sharply, the muttering and chattering of the court went on, mere background to the screaming priest who had to be dragged out of the room to be calmed down.

Robel noticed that the King was still silent as all this transpired. “Where would you choose to build it?” The King asked.

“Majesty, I understand that a few noble houses were exterminated by Jaldabaoth, and this leaves several residences devoid of owners. With your permission, we would like to buy one of these estates from you and build a temple in its place.” Robel said smoothly.

“Do you expect the crown to fund the construction?” The King asked, leaning forward on his throne, he tilted his head slightly back, thrusting his jaw out as if to deny that request before it could be made..

“No, sire.” Robel replied.

“Do you expect that the rebuilding of the Capital will be allowed to halt in order to build your temple?” The King asked further.

“No, sire.” Robel replied.

“Do you expect that supplies intended for reconstruction will be split up to provide you with what you require for your temple?” The King asked once more.

“No, sire. We will either buy supplies ourselves, or use recovered materials from areas demolished for complete rebuilding.” Robel replied.

“Then the only questions that remain are whether or not the Sorcerer King is actually a god or not, and whether or not there is any reason to refuse this request.” The King stated simply.

“Yes, sire.” Robel replied in agreement.

“Return in one week’s time, I must summon the council and we will debate the matter. For now, you are dismissed.” The King said, and Robel stood, bowed, stepped back several paces, and left the throne room that was filled with murmurs.

...Tinamoc’s Caravan...On the Road...

Neia savored the last few days of relative peace, enjoying the countryside since her missives went out. The sun seemed brighter and the grass seemed greener, she hadn’t really realized how much the ruin of the capital had depressed her, despite their progress. And with no new attacks on the caravan, all they had to do was stay vigilant and enjoy the good weather. However, given what they found along the route when they hit their next intended stopping point... that lack of attacks was suddenly and horribly explained. There was simply nothing worth attacking.

The first burned out village they found had nothing but piles of bones all jumbled together and left piled like a pyramid in the center. The skeletons of men, women, children, dogs, cats, horses, and cattle had all been thrown together with equal indifference. Some of the bones had rotten and maggot-infested meat still clinging to them where the demihumans had gotten sloppy during their ‘feast’. The homes and other buildings were burned down to the skeletal frames alone, leaving the entire village looking as if it were one very large corpse, the whole place smelled like death and roasted meat.

They searched through the remnants for survivors and found none. They paused to provide the dead with a proper burial. However, nobody wanted to linger there for long. The next three villages they found were much the same. In one of them, they found a few small children who had died of exposure, hidden away by their parents before the adults fell prey to the demihumans, nobody survived to return for them, so they perished slowly for want of someone to care for them. Each village that they encountered required time for them to pause and see to the dead, and at each village Neia took the time to write a report of what her people found and send what she had written back to the capital.

As she stood in the ruins of one such place, a member of her front liners and scouts approached. “Ma’am,” she said sadly, “we shouldn’t linger here it’s… I know it’s bad, but I think we’ve put down the demihumans responsible for most of this.” The woman’s auburn hair hung short to the shoulder, and her bright green eyes were intense and sad. Her voice however, was clear and professional.

“I know, I just don’t want to forget, we’re moving out… sorry, what was your name?” Neia asked thoughtfully.

“Skana, ma’am. My name is Skana.” The green eyed woman said with a small smile and a bow of her head.

“Right, Skana, thank you, we’ll be going soon.” Neia said softly, but clenched her fist as hard as steel at her side.

Though she could not have known it at the time, as these reports filtered back home, they were widely circulated around the city and all kinds of stories began to crop up in the popular imagination. The bards singing and telling stories in taverns made a killing on spreading the ones they heard, or making up all new ones about ‘The Pope and her Hundred’. Even the warrior who challenged her saw his own reputation rise through the story as a result, as every story needs a climactic battle against a great foe.

What Neia did notice was that the personal guards of Tinamoc had become regular attendees at her nightly sermons, and several had sought to convert to her beliefs. Many had begun to train in the evening hours under the tutelage of some of her best fighters.

After one such sermon, Tinamoc asked her to join him for dinner. It made her curious that he had not “instructed” her to join him for dinner, but instead had simply “asked” for her, but she was not averse to the request, so she went, and as they sat across from one another while one of the servants prepared the meal, Tinamoc broke the ice. “You’ve made an impression on my people.” He said simply, and pouring a cup of wine, he offered it out to her.

Neia nodded and accepted it, as he poured one of his own. When they were each holding one, he raised his cup and said, “To life.” To which she replied, “To the end of our country’s sins.” And they drank. Tinamoc refilled their cups as soon as they were made empty.

“I’m assuming you favor the impression I have made then, as you asked me to join you tonight.” Neia said, looking him in the eyes. ‘Clear eyes, he’s no warrior, not with a body that round but… focused like a warrior. I wonder if it’s true of all who excel in their fields? If I found a master artisan and watched their faces, would they have that look too?’ It was a point of curiosity, but she set it aside and focused on the moment.

Tinamoc nodded, “I do. My men are good ones, arguably the best available among the common mercenaries that are still left in the Holy Kingdom, but you’ve taken your own men to a whole other level. But I have also listened to you speak of strength very often, I have heard your...” he coughed slightly, “sermons, about the Sorcerer King and his representation to you as the god of justice.” He began.

“Yes? Is there something you’re unsure of about all that?” Neia asked, leaning forward with interest and extending her cup to be refilled again..

“Well, is that why you don’t work as mercenaries, despite the better pay that could be had by it?” Tinamoc asked, and had half refilled her cup before he noticed he’d acted on her wish. ‘So that’s what it is to be a leader, people follow without thinking… even I just did. Or maybe I’m just a good host.’ He mentally smirked at himself and paid attention to her as the silence briefly stretched.

Neia drank her wine and thought, ‘I see, he has an eye to recruitment.’

When she swallowed the contents once more, she held out her cup to be refilled, and as he did so, she answered, “I can’t speak for all my people, but that is one reason for me. His Majesty, the Sorcerer King once told me, nobody can have two masters and serve them both well. Either he must love the one and hate the other, or hate the one and love the other, but one person cannot give the whole of themselves to two hearts and two minds and two goals. I am dedicated to the will of the great god of Justice, Ainz Ooal Gown. Any work I do, serves that purpose now.” She said and clenched her jaw decisively.

“And if I offer to hire you to train the rest of my household guard when we return?” He asked.

“Then I can only accept if it serves the cause of my master, he trusts me,” she blushed at the memory of Ainz’s apology to her, and the joy of learning of his trust, “to serve his interests well, so I have latitude in that respect.”

“The Sorcerer King engages in trade.” He asked with a half raised voice that made it more of a question than a statement.

“He does,” she said. “What of it?”

“You also desire to spread your message.” He said pointedly.

“I do,” she said. “What of it?” she repeated.

“It would be easier for you to spread your message, if your people had
the means to travel widely, wouldn’t it?” Tinamoc asked.

“It would,” she said thoughtfully and looked down into her cup as she contemplated the value of such a useful avenue into various corners of society.

“If your religion grows, do you plan to eliminate or promote trade?” He asked.

“Promote.” She said firmly. “The Sorcerer King has said that strength comes in many forms, in mind and body, and as long as the strength is attained justly, it is right in his eyes that people have it. Honest merchants are thriving in E-Rantel from what I have heard. You may never lift a blade, but you are a man with the strength to shape the world for the better, and from what I see, you have done so. You’ve been giving fair prices to people you could have gouged, and allowing debtors to work their debt off without interest, rather than having them punished for their poverty.” The faint smile on her face, sent relief shivering through his spine.

He bowed his head, accepting the praise. “This caravan is not my only one, I usually have caravans moving everywhere throughout the Holy Kingdom and beyond. I will pay for the services of your people as guards, then they may evangelize and spread your message far and wide. This would be greatly to your advantage, all I ask in return is your security, the favor of mentioning my name as a reliable and able merchant to the Sorcerer King when next you meet him, and also, one more thing.” He said, letting the unspoken request linger in the air for a moment.

“Yes?” She asked with some suspicion in her voice at the ‘considerably beneficial’ arrangement.

“Tell me more of the Sorcerer King, and of his justice.” He said, and a smile lit up Neia’s face in the fire as the servant began to ladle stew into bowls for them both.

They spoke well into the night, until the need for sleep overtook them both, and they went to their respective places of rest. The next day began quickly, with camp being broken and the people of the caravan continuing towards a village. They heard the village before they saw it, because it was enduring what sounded like a riot, Neia halted the caravan, ordered security established and called forth her scouts. They rode together as swiftly as they could to find out what the ruckus was.

Neia recognized the scout as soon as she returned, the same auburn hair and green eyes, but her words carried a note of urgency. “Ma’am, I believe you should come with us! It’s a mob, madness has set in on the village, we briefly delayed it by our sudden arrival but… but I don’t that will last!” Skana said urgently.

Neia looked over to Tinamoc, “Hold everyone here for now, tell my people to defend, I’m going to investigate this for myself!” She said, and spurred her mount onward as Skana wheeled around to lead her commander back to the village.

The cause of the disturbance was soon made very clear, a man was bound to a stake in the center of the village, he was naked, bruised and battered. His face was cut, his jaw was broken and he was missing teeth, some of which were scattered among the rocks that had fallen round him, despite his severe injury to his face, he was still cutting loose with a wail of agony and very mangled pleas for mercy along with cries of his innocence.

The mob was so thoroughly into their bloodlust that if they noticed his cries, they did not care, and they did not notice Neia or her escorts at all. Neia looked over to the auburn haired woman, “Get the other scouts, have them stay back but alert. I’d appreciate a rescue if I need it.” Neia’s voice was commanding, but her last order was almost laughable.

Still, Skana obeyed and raised her hand and circled it about, gesturing for her scouts to follow her back, as Neia rode forward. Still, nobody noticed the fearsome sight behind them until the warrior pope’s horse started to make people notice by pushing them out of the way, prompting sudden cries of surprise, then anger, then fear as she got to the front, and got between the mob and the half dead man.

Frightened by the sudden appearance of the unexpected, the peasant mob did not have it in them to throw another stone, and those ready to do so, slowly lowered their hands.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Neia shouted fiercely. The horses of her scouts stirred, and noise prompted the mob to look to the entry to the village. With the scouts in front and in back, Neia removed her visor, and revealed her menacing eyes to the mob, “I SAID... what is the MEANING of this?! Who is in charge here?! Bring out your mayor!”

The mob parted around one man, showing a middle-aged figure in common clothing, still holding a rock, his eyes were wide at the unexpected sight in front of him, and as Neia’s eyes fell to his hand, he let loose his grip and dropped the rock.

“I am Neia Baraja, and you will answer me!” She snapped, remembering the way the Sorcerer King spoke when giving orders, and imitating it to the best of her now considerable ability. This prompted the mayor to jump slightly at the startling reveal of whom she was. “Good my name seems to be now well known among the commoners.” She suppressed a smile of happiness as she credited her precious Lord. ‘Without your name, without your faith, without a chance to serve you… I’d have never had anything worth having. You give me so much, just by letting me serve you.’ She thought lovingly.

As the sound of soft gossiping came from the crowd, the now very nervous mayor answered, “This man,” he gestured to the injured figure, “is a murderer. He came to our village a few days ago as a landless wanderer, he asked to stay and work, and we were willing to let him. Farming always needs extra hands and all that, but then he murdered Arry, broke in, stole a few of his things, and tried to escape. We caught up with him down the road this morning, found Arry’s things in his satchel, and now we’re bringing him to justice by sending him to the gods.” The mayor said, “Arry wasn’t my best friend or anything, but he was part of the village, and we can’t let people go around killing our own, can we? What do you expect us to do? We got no judges, we got no guards, we barely got a priest. We got to see to everything ourselves, and if it’s slow, well what else do murderers deserve?!” The mayor managed to finish passionately, and raised his hand to point at Neia on her horse. “You tell us! How are we to get justice for our own, with nothing but ourselves to take it!”

Neia nodded, “I understand.” She got down off her horse and approached the staked man, he quivered and shook and tried to shrink away from her, blubbering as he did so, she knelt next to him and grabbed his hair and forced his head up to look into her eyes, she searched his face with her piercing gaze, she looked for malice and cruelty, she looked for the evil she’d seen in so many others, and try as she might, she couldn’t find anything but fear of more pain. Not even rage at those who had hurt him, just a longing for it to end. She wondered if they’d broken him that badly, that there was nothing evil left, only pitiable things, but she had her doubts, so she pulled out a purple potion from her satchel and poured it over him.

His condition quickly improved, his bruises faded, cuts closed, his jaw reset, and teeth regrew. He actually... didn’t look that bad. She grabbed his head again and forced him to look into her eyes even as the crowd cried out in shock and anger.

“Why’d you heal him for! Why’d you heal him for! He killed my Arry! He killed my Arry! He deserves to die!” A young woman who was obviously Arry’s widow, screamed out, clawing at her hair and face in grief, leaving deep marks on her lovely face during her rant.

“Quiet!” Neia snapped. “If he is guilty, then all this means is you get to hurt him a whole lot more, all over again, before he does finally die.” That seemed to mollify the woman, who took on a predatory smile, her lips turning up and her teeth bared slightly.

“What’s your name?” Neia asked gently as she touched him beneath his jaw.

“Tiksin” He said softly, as he tried to move to keep from seeing the widow’s gaze.

“Did you do it?” Neia asked the bound, naked, helpless man.

“Nooooooo!” He said, sobbing as if he’d wanted to say that for hours, “I swear I didn’t kill nobody, I got my pay and left, I swear I wasn’t running, I was just moving on to get to the Capital!” As Neia looked at him, she couldn’t find any hint of evil in his look as he locked eyes with her and said, “I swear, by whatever gods you believe in, I didn’t hurt nobody.”

Neia looked over her shoulder at the mayor, “How far down the road did you catch him?” She asked.

“I don’t know exactly how far, but we caught up with him in about fifteen minutes.” The Mayor said.

“On horseback?” Neia asked.

“No, on foot.” The mayor answered.

“He was on the road?” Neia asked.

“Yes.” The mayor replied, his eyes narrowing.

“Strange, don’t you think?” She asked with an inflection of curiosity.

“What’s that?” The mayor asked.

“Well, he kills a man in his own home the night before, doesn’t steal a horse and leave, instead, he just packs a few knick-knacks worth a few coins, waits until morning, and leaves on the road, walking away like he’d done absolutely nothing? Is that what you would do if you’d just killed a man?” Neia asked.

“Well... no.” Said the mayor.

“Where was Arry killed?” Neia asked.

“He was in his home, in bed, obviously he died while he was still asleep.” The mayor said.

“Where were you?” Neia asked Arry’s widow.

“I was with my parents, they were both very sick, so I was taking care of them.” She said somewhat defensively. “I’da protected him if I could!” She said as she felt accusing stares cast her way.

Neia thought carefully. She whistled loudly, calling her soldiers back, and in short order the ten scouts were towering on their big horses over the impoverished villagers. She looked up at her scouts, “I need nine of you to go back, tell the caravan that all is well, but to wait a few hours before approaching.” As she gave her orders, she moved her forefinger in a circle, quietly giving them a more covert instruction.

“So why kill him? It would have been much easier to just take a few things and walk out with nobody the wiser, and you’re much more likely to notice a dead body than a few missing items. Tell me, did everyone know where Tiksin was sleeping?” Neia asked.

“Yes.” The mayor said. “He was allowed to sleep in the storehouse.”

“I see.” Neia said, “Has Arry been buried yet? I need to see the body.”

“No, he’s due to be buried after we kill this murderer.” The mayor spat the words and jerked his thumb toward the bound prisoner.

“Take me to the body, you and his widow.” Neia said, and for good measure in one swift motion she drew her bow, an arrow, and fired at the post with strength augmented by her martial arts and struck the spot a few inches above where Arry was bound. The arrow sank into the wood, and came out the other side, drawing a hushed silence from the mob. “Nobody goes anywhere till I get back, anyone I do have to chase, better hope they’re faster than that arrow.” She said, and the most unhappy mayor walked next to the most unhappy widow, leading her to a small chapel.

There on the altar, lay the body of a young man. He must have been good looking when he was alive, still was... sort of, in the sense that you could see that his jaw was strong and his body was well muscled. There was, however, a hole in his head. Neia looked at it and thought of the various ways people could die... an area she had much experience with observing. This wasn’t a knife wound, or a mace, or an arrow, no weapon she knew could do this, the way the hole curved was strange.

She started to think of the various things that could kill a man that ordinary people used for ordinary things.

“Does Tiksin have a knife?” She asked.

“He did.” The mayor replied.

“So why didn’t he use it?” Neia asked thoughtfully. "If he intended to kill this man when he broke into his home, why not use that? Why use... whatever made this?”

The mayor didn’t reply, neither did the widow.

Neia looked at the woman, “Show me Arry’s home. Mayor, come with me as well.” The woman had gone from furious and vengeful, to very confused, but she obeyed and agreed to lead Neia, and very soon they were inside a small cottage. “Tell me, do you know where he kept the things that were taken?” She nodded. “He kept his mother’s necklace in a box under the bed, and he kept his father’s silver statuette in a small cupboard he could lock.”

“And he kept it locked?” Neia asked. She nodded.

“And the key?” She asked the widow again.

“It was kept in the bottom drawer with his shirts...why?” The widow replied.

“Open each of the drawers.” Neia said.

The widow looked at her twice in confusion, but then obeyed. The two top drawers were orderly, only the bottom drawer had materials scattered as if rummaged through.

“The killer knew what to look for. He knew where to find it, he knew how to get to it, and he knew he wouldn’t be interrupted. Does that sound like any stranger to you?” Neia said.

Both the widow and the mayor turned pale as their heads shook.

“So let me see if I have this right... the wanderer shows up into town, does some honest work for a few days, then in the middle of the night, he goes to Arry’s house unarmed, he finds Arry asleep, he kills him with “something” that was large and heavy and had a curved spike, he then goes to exactly the right drawer, gets the key, unlocks the cupboard in the dark, and then goes directly under the bed and nowhere else to find the only other thing of value, and then he leaves. He then waits around all night until morning, gets breakfast and his pay for his previous work, and leaves on the road without any means of escape, having taken with him the exact evidence needed to show that he’s the thief, and he keeps that evidence in his pack on his person for you to find when you catch up with him. Does all that sound like something anybody, even a half wit, would do?” Neia asked bluntly.

“No... no I suppose not.” The mayor said.

“But he had Arry’s things!” the widow replied, "How’d that happen?!”

“I think that the killer didn’t come here to steal, he came to kill Arry. He walked in with the murder weapon, killed Arry, and took the objects he knew would be recognized, and he knew where those things were because he’d seen them before, Arry knew his killer, the killer then put those objects in the pack of Tiksin knowing that they would result in you all concluding that he’d committed the crime. The killer is somebody in this village. The question is, who would want Arry dead?” Neia asked.

The mayor and the widow looked down, after a long moment, the widow spoke up, “Arry wasn’t a bad man, but...”

“He wasn’t popular.” The mayor admitted reluctantly.

“Anyone have any special reason to hate him?” Neia asked slightly more sharply as she ticked off questions by closing her fingers one by one into her palm until she made a fist.

“The priest accused him of blasphemy and heresy for when Arry told the man to work in the field with everyone else. Called the priest a lazy drunkard,” his widow said.

“The priest does like his wine... but who doesn’t?” The mayor said.

“The baker accused Arry of flirting with his wife...” The mayor continued.

“Which isn’t true!” the widow snapped. “Arry was a good husband, if a bit loud mouthed.”

“The blacksmith said Arry owed him money for fixing his mattock, and Arry said he wasn’t going to pay for a shit job.” The mayor added with a reluctant grumble and a look at the dirt at his feet.

The widow answered, “And it was a shit job!” The mayor added, “But only because Arry was in too much of a hurry to get it back.”

Neia’s eyes widened, “Show me his mattock.” She said. The widow went to the front door and closed it, and there behind it sat a mattock in very poor condition, the head with the curved spike was in a very wobbly state. Neia held out her hand, and the widow brought the mattock to her and handed it over.

“This is the murder weapon.” Neia said as she lifted the head and stroked the spike to trace the curve, recalling the shape of the hole in Arry’s head. “But not this exact one. Does Tiksin have one of his own?” This prompted negative replies.

“Does everyone have one?” Neia asked.

“Yes.” Both replied in unison.

“Are they kept locked up?” She asked.

“Yes,” the widow replied, “in our homes at least, for all the security that gave to Arry.”

“It’s time to solve the murder.” Neia said.

They went with her with great curiosity, and Neia stood beside Tiksin as the mayor and widow went among the crowd again and began whispering among the people about the strange series of questions they had endured.

“Tiksin is innocent.” Neia said sharply.

The mob began to get rowdy and loud, and Neia drew her sword, causing it to die down as they saw the unflinching gaze turn to each of them in turn.

“This was not a robbery gone wrong, the killer knew who Arry was, he knew where Arry kept his only valuables, he found those valuables in the dark, he brought a murder weapon with him, he struck Arry while he was asleep and helpless, and he planted those small trinkets into Tiksin’s pack, knowing where Tiksin slept, and knowing he would be blamed. Arry was not stabbed, he was bludgeoned, and Tiksin had a knife but no other tools of his own. Someone saw the opportunity to take his life when his wife was known to be away and not coming back to interrupt him, and when there was a stranger around to take the blame. Now we’re going to find out who the killer is.”

The crowd began to mutter, “Bring forth the priest, the blacksmith, and the baker.” Neia said, and three voices were raised in protest, “NOW!” Neia barked in her command voice, and three men were quickly pushed to the front of the crowd. “Bind them!” She snapped, “One of THEM is the killer!”

Neia kept her voice authoritative and beyond question, and held the gazes of the mob, as the mayor said, “Obey her.” That was all it took, and the crowd quickly secured the protesting three.

Neia scanned the crowd and pointed to a group of children. “You three, run to the houses of the priest, the baker, and the blacksmith, one of you to each residence, and bring back the mattocks of each man.” She pulled out three gold coins. “There is one of these for each of you if you’re back here quickly.” That got them moving, and in a few minutes, each of the three had returned.

Each of the mattocks was free of blood.

“See!” One of the men said, “They got no blood on em, couldn’ta been anyone here!”

“This one is uncommonly clean, don’t you think?” Neia said, pointing to one of the mattocks, “sort of convenient that it would be cleaned just when one was used in a murder the night before?” Neia asked. She was right, where two of the mattocks were encrusted with dirt from breaking up the ground, one of them was almost spotless.

“Well I don’t really use mine...” Said one man, obviously the priest, “my flock is usually generous and kind enough to help me, and they bring their own tools so...”

“True.” Neia said, “That might explain it, but this will tell us the truth.”

Neia then went and took up each mattock, one by one, and laid them up against the wall of a house, “Priest.” she said as she placed his, “Blacksmith.” She said as she placed his, “Baker.” She said as she placed his.

As they lay propped up against the house, the mob of villagers looked very confused, but Neia only looked bored as she turned her back and watched, and at first nothing happened, and people wondered if she was waiting for the tools to speak or act or do something... and then... something did happen.

A fly happened.

First one, then two, then three, then five more, all of them buzzing around one mattock, the mattock of the priest.

“You may have washed the blood off of your murder weapon so that we couldn’t see it, “Neia said coldly, “But as any soldier can tell you, flies love blood, and they will congregate where it falls, even if we can’t see it, they know it’s there, especially when it is relatively fresh and hasn’t been completely removed. And unfortunately for you, that can’t be done just by dumping a bucket of water over it or whatever you did, you have to do a thorough job, and fool their ability to smell, not just our ability to see. Free the others, the priest is the guilty party.” Neia announced, and the voices of the mob became a chorus, prompting Neia to draw her sword and slash at the post where poor Tiksin still crouched, and cut the post in half.

The wood fell to the ground with a thud, which again stilled the mob.

“What I want to know is why.” Neia said as the baker and the blacksmith were cut loose.

The priest began to howl in outrage, “How dare you question me?! How DARE you?! He deserved to die! He was a blasphemer! He was a heretic! He was cursed by the gods themselves and deserved his end for daring to challenge the servant of the gods! Who are you to question me?!” He shrieked out.

Neia was quick with her answer. “I am the servant of the god of justice, the one true god still in this world, Ainz Ooal Gown, and his justice gives me the right to correct injustice!” Neia’s voice became as thunder over the ongoing shrieking of the priest,

“I had every right to kill him! It was my right! It was my right! It was my...” The priest shrieked, and then the fist of Neia Baraja broke his jaw.

“Hurt for hurt, kindness for kindness.” She said and turned to the villagers. “You may kill the priest now. I will take custody of Tiksin, but I will EXPECT,” she said sharply, “that you will make proper restitution to him in time, given all you put him through!” The villagers had the good graces to look deeply ashamed of themselves and what they had already done, and nearly had finished doing.

Neia drew her bow, then nocked and fired an arrow into the air, alerting the caravan that all was well and for the hidden scouts that had surrounded the village to come out of hiding. “Thank you all, turned out to be no need for you to circle the village, the killer could not escape, and the crowd did not become a problem.” Neia told the group of mounted men.

She motioned for Tiksin to get on to the back of one of the horses of her scouts, and as she mounted her own horse again she said, “I will be coming back soon, along with me will be a merchant caravan, we will set up next to the village to do our trade, try to have that thing’s body out of here before we arrive.” Neia said, as she circled around the post where someone was binding the priest, she spat on the priest’s face from atop her horse and rode away.

“Thank you!” The widow shouted behind her waving and weeping wildly with every word. “Thank you! Thank you! My Arry can rest easy in his grave now! Thank you!”

Neia waved behind her, sure at least that her band would have a few very good friends in the village when they arrived, and silently thanking Ainz for the learning she had been given, both in the physical training on the field and in the education she had gained in the library of Ashurbanipal.