Eric had no idea of what to do. Surrounded by curious, staring citizens, and confronted with two opposing groups, he knew that something was expected of him. Was there really an ancient law that allowed any god to have a temple in Milagre? It seemed true, simply based on how many gods he’d seen represented within the city. Also, best he could tell, Attos hadn’t broken any Divine Laws. The only two he knew were enforced by Shigeru and Bora Bora. As Attos hadn’t killed any innocents or used necromancy, there was technically no rule or law that prevented the priests of Attos a space within the walls of Milagre.

Still, he thought, he was loathe to allow any follower to establish a foothold in this city. He might be an outsider, but the past month and a half had seen him grow to accept Milagre as his home. Not to mention, there was some great catastrophic event that he was supposed to take part in, to help save the world. What if this was the beginning of that event? Would he be fulfilling his role to let them in, or deny them entry?

Another commotion drew his eyes away from the two groups. The crowd was being rather forcefully shunted to one side, to make room for a small group of armed men. They all wore the symbol of the Queen on their uniforms, marking them as members of the Queen’s Guard. Eric hid his surprise and relief as he recognized the man in the lead. It was Enri Ciayol, the Captain, and Paragon of Ahya. Well, he thought. At least someone qualified was here.

“Commander Berran,” Enri said, once his eyes had swept over the situation and noticed who all was present. “What are you doing here?”

“Acolyte of Ahya,” Norman Berran replied, his face showing the slightest hint of misgiving. “I am High Priest to my lord Attos now. Surely you know that he has ascended.”

“So you claim,” Enri replied, his expression giving nothing away. “For the day, Milagre does not recognize Attos as one of the Divine.”

“Look at his gift among us!” Berran exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. Power rippled across his body, creating little spurts of flame that danced along his robe but caused no damage. “Can you still deny his divinity?”

Enri studied him for several moments, the crowd hushed as they waited. “If what you claim is the truth, then surely as his High Priest, you must command a certain amount of his power. Do you claim this as well?”

“I do!” Berran replied vehemently. The cool, uncaring mask he’d donned previously was gone now, with raw passion in its place. “Do you not believe?”

“The ancient law that founded this city does allow you and your fellows a home within the Temple District,” Enri said hesitantly. “But only if you can prove here and now that the strength of your god is genuine.”

The priests and warriors behind Berran all took several steps back, for the flames dancing along the High Priest’s robes had surged more brightly, flaring up brightly enough to make nearby people cringe away reflexively. Flames now covered him in earnest, licking his hands and clothing and dripping to the ground, where they scorched the cobbles. His eyes were wide with fanatic light as he stared across the short distance at Enri.

“Gladly!” he crowed. “Will you face me yourself?”

Enri’s face was stoic as ever, but Eric could have sworn the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as if he were fighting away a smile. “No.”

The flames on Berran’s robe stuttered slightly, and he stared, agape, at Enri. “No? Have you grown soft and cowardly after your time in the war, Acolyte?”

“That’s Paragon now, if you must know,” Enri corrected him. “But I know you possess power thanks to your cousin’s exploits. If your claim is true, one of your underlings will fight to prove it.”

The High Priest of Attos replied immediately, no sign of hesitation or doubt in his voice. “Easily done. Who is your representative?”

Enri glanced around, and his eyes locked on Eric as if noticing him for the first time. Eric tried to signal, by shaking his head a tiny bit, but Enri ignored his silent message. “Why, Apprentice Breeden should be sufficient.”

Eric suppressed a groan, but with immense difficulty. “Me?”

“Yes, Eric,” Enri said, beckoning him closer. When Eric had complied, he lowered his voice. “You know, of course, that his claim is true. But an example must be made here to quell the peoples’ unease. You must fight his representative, and be seen to win.”

“Why me?” Eric replied, speaking quietly so that nobody could overhear. “Ask one of your warriors to do it.”

“Too late,” Enri said, with a grin. “You’ve already been selected. Besides, I have a feeling I know who he will choose. You can handle this. Consider it part of your training to help our world.”

Eric sighed, making no attempt to hide it this time. He really didn’t like the weight of expectations that were being placed upon him. “Fine. Do I have to kill him?”

“Of course not. But you must win without a doubt. Now go forward and stand.”

The baker and his cohorts hurriedly moved aside as Eric approached, casting him curiously hungry looks. Eric didn’t know if they really wanted him to win against Attos’ representative, or if they were just eager to see a brutal fight. He knew that on Earth in medieval times, a duel such as this was often a great spectacle. Clearly, it was the same here in Ahya, for even the spectators were making noises of excitement, clearly eager to see what was coming.

“Bren Moran!” The High Priest said loudly, calling one of the warriors forward. “Fight to prove our cause worthy! Attos watches over you, and he will ensure your victory!”

Eric blinked in surprise as Bren approached. Appearance-wise, Bren looked completely ordinary. But at the High Priest’s words, and a light touch of his hand on the warrior’s shoulder, flames had crossed over to his body, and suffused into his armor. Bren drew the sword at his waist now and hefted the shield on his left arm. Power rippled across his form now, clearly a boon from his new god.

For some reason, rather than panicking at the power being demonstrated before him, Eric was remembering the words that he’d heard two weeks ago when he’d prayed to Shigeru and was granted an audience. I cannot directly interfere, but I can offer advice and my blessing. A slight smile crossed his face. If he was expected to take part in this religious debacle, then they could hardly complain if he sought assistance of his own. He drew his two blades, bringing the longer before his face and closing his eyes. It was the first serious prayer he’d ever made in his life.

“Oh great God of War,” he said softly. “Grant me your blessing in this contest, so that I may repel those who would destroy the peace of this city.”

Though his request was genuine, he wasn’t entirely sure if winning this fight would constitute keeping the peace. He worried, for just a moment, that this wouldn’t qualify him to receive a boon. But then the crowd around him all made noises of amazement and took several steps back. Power was flooding into his system, and his senses seemed sharpened slightly. Lines of light seemed to pop in his vision, gathering around everyone he could see, giving them a faint outline.

Accept this blessing. No evil-doer can hide from you.

A strange, white light was flowing across his body now, a physical representation of the blessing that Shigeru had just given him. He took a deep breath, then raised the swords into the ready position. The longer blade pointed across space directly at his opponent, while he held the shorter blade back-handed, a little lower. It was the basic stance that Ehran had hammered into him, and would likely be his best advantage.

“In your own time, you may begin combat,” Enri said. He moved so that he was clearly visible to both fighters, one hand raised. After glancing at each face to make sure they were ready, he swung the hand down. “Begin!”

Bren moved the instant Enri called, his sword coming up and around for a forehand cut. It slammed into Eric’s longer blade with a ringing clash, then was flicked upward as Eric parried it. Giving himself over to the instinct that had been honed repeatedly since his arrival in this world, Eric slashed out with his main blade, a wide cut aimed at Bren’s unprotected ribs. The shield came around in a blur, just in time to take the blade and render it harmless.

Bren spun on the spot, the sword whipping around in a brutal backhand stroke that Eric ducked. To the citizens who stood and watched, the sparks of metal striking metal flashed repeatedly as the two warriors beat at each other, each one testing the other’s defense, their reactions, and their strength. After a few seconds of constant attacks and counters, they separated, taking time to study their opponent’s stance, to take stock of the situation.

Eric could tell that Bren was physically stronger than he was, but this really didn’t come as a surprise. He’d been focusing on speed and his reactions more recently, while Bren had clearly trained to use his brute strength to his advantage. He flexed his wrists experimentally, faintly aware of a slight numb feeling in his right arm, a side effect of blocking so many hard blows. He’d have to avoid blocking whenever possible, relying instead on his superior dexterity. As it stood they’d traded blows pretty evenly, neither able to land a hit.

Bren was advancing again, pacing carefully to avoid giving Eric an opening, and thrust forward. Eric leaned to the side and cut quickly at Bren’s sword arm. The bigger warrior withdrew the limb at once, closely avoiding a cut. He tried to slam his shield into Eric’s smaller frame, but a quick leap back avoided that. Eric was moving carefully, spending more of his time on studying Bren’s movements, rather than fighting. He’d never fought someone who matched him so closely, and he knew that in order to win, he’d have to find and exploit a weakness.

The crowd muttered uneasily now, watching Eric duck and dodge away from Bren’s strokes without fighting back. They were clearly wondering what was wrong with him. Had he tired so quickly after that initial exchange of blows? Maybe this was some ploy, the more hopeful of them thought. Maybe he was pretending to be weak and tired, to draw his opponent into making a mistake.

Bren cut, again and again, growing impatient as each of his swings failed to make contact. To him, it felt like Eric was toying with him, denying him the honest challenge that he so desperately wanted. Letting out a growl of annoyance, he charged forward with his shield raised, aiming to catch Eric unaware and knock him flat. But his thin opponent ducked low and darted forward, letting Bren surge past him. As he ran, he felt a sharp pain in his left thigh. Eric had managed to score a light wound there as he dodged past.

The crowd missed the initial cut, but they saw the way that Bren staggered slightly under the suddenly injured leg. It wasn’t a telling blow, but it was the first one landed in the entire combat. They let out a ragged cheer of support that was redoubled as Eric, seizing the moment, opened a slightly deeper wound in the shoulder of Bren’s shield arm. Both were small injuries, but they raised the townsfolk’s spirits, rekindling the hope they had that Eric might be able to deny the priests entry into their city.