In the Holy Kingdom of Saint Malo, the sun shines so damn bright it's practically a war crime. The marble streets reflect the light like a thousand mirrors, and every citizen walks around with a smile so fake you could peel it off with a butter knife. But me? I prefer the damp, dark corners where the sun's self-righteous rays can't reach. That's where the real ledgers are kept.
My name is Morvan Kael, and I'm a Sin-Eater. Think of me as a high-end trash compactor for the soul, except I charge a hell of a lot more than your local janitor, and I strictly do not offer refunds.
I was currently slumped in my "office"—which, let's be honest, was just a basement that smelled like wet dogs and cheap, bottom-shelf whiskey. I was busy flipping a rusted copper coin I'd pulled out of a "Dragon Slayer's" throat last Tuesday. The guy died with a look of pure shock on his face, probably wondering why his legendary status didn't stop a piece of cheap metal from ending his career.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Across from me sat a merchant named Barnaby. He was so fat he was practically overflowing from his silk-lined chair like rising bread dough. He was sweating enough to fill a bucket, and his soul... oh, his soul was a masterpiece of mediocrity.
"They say you... you handle 'Heroic' problems," Barnaby squeaked, his voice trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. He kept wiping his forehead with a handkerchief that had seen better days.
I didn't look up. "I don't 'handle' problems, Barnaby. I collect debts. You want a miracle? Go to the Cathedral and lick a priest's boots until they sparkle. You want a 'Hero' to stop breathing because he burned your warehouse to 'save' it from imaginary bandits? That's my department."
I finally looked at him. My eyes did that thing they always do—the world bled into shades of grey, and neon-green numbers began to dance above his head.
[Target: Barnaby the Merchant. Sin Level: 42%. Greed: High. Cowardice: Max. Success Rate of Assassination: 99.8%.]
Useless. Killing him would be like kicking a puppy—boring and socially frowned upon.
"Sir Arthur," Barnaby whispered, leaning in so close I could smell the garlic and desperation on his breath. "He's the 'People's Champion.' The Saint Knight. But he took my daughter for his 'service,' seized my land for his 'temple'... and the Church just calls it a 'Holy Sacrifice' for the Greater Good."
I caught the coin mid-air. Above the merchant's head, a new notification flickered into existence, pulsating with a dark, angry red light.
[Primary Debt Target Detected: Sir Arthur (The Saint Knight).]
[Current Sins: Genocide (Hidden), Serial Betrayal (Max), Hypocrisy (Overflowing).]
[Status: Divine Blessing Active.]
[Harvest Success Rate: 0.01%.]
"Zero point zero one percent?" I muttered, lighting a cigarette. The smoke curled around my head like a judgmental ghost. "Now that... that's the kind of math that makes my stomach growl."
"What was that, Mr. Kael?" the merchant asked, blinking.
"Nothing. It means your 'Saint' is a very, very expensive steak, and I'm feeling hungry," I drawled, blowing a thick cloud of smoke directly into his face. "Price is two thousand gold coins. Half now, half when I bring you his golden helmet—hopefully with his head still inside it. If I die, keep the change and buy yourself a nice headstone. If I live... well, you'll have your land back, and Arthur will be a very pretty, very silent corpse."
Barnaby fumbled for his purse, his hands shaking so hard he dropped several coins on the floor. I watched him scramble to pick them up, then I watched him scurry out of the basement like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.
Once the door clicked shut, I stood up and stretched until my spine popped like a string of firecrackers. I walked over to the wall and grabbed my black bow, The Creditor. The wood was carved from a tree that had grown in a graveyard, and it felt cold and hungry in my hand.
"Time to go to work," I whispered to the shadows. "Let's see if a 'Saint' bleeds liquid gold or just the same old stinking filth as the rest of us."
I stepped out of the basement and into the blinding noon sunlight of the capital. Everywhere I looked, people were cheering, hanging banners, and preparing for Sir Arthur's "Triumphal Parade." The air was thick with the scent of flowers and hero-worship.
But as I walked through the crowd, all I saw were the numbers.
Greed: 15%.
Lust: 22%.
Envy: 40%.
This city wasn't a paradise. It was a buffet of uncollected debts, a feast of hidden sins waiting for someone to pick up the bill. And me? I hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks.
Arthur was standing on a raised platform near the palace, his silver armor polished so bright it looked like a holy relic. He was waving to the crowd, his smile so perfect it made my molars ache. He looked like a god.
I squinted through the glare, focusing my gaze on his chest.
[Target: Sir Arthur.]
[Current Debt: 1,500,000 Sin Points.]
[Harvest Chance: Still 0.01%.]
"Challenge accepted, you shiny bastard," I grinned, showing a few too many teeth. "Let's see how that 'Holy Light' of yours handles a debt collector who doesn't take 'no' for an answer."
I disappeared into the crowd, a shadow moving through a world of fake light, ready to start the harvest.