Safely leaving the apartment, Reyn continued on foot. After five blocks, he ditched the bundle by tossing it into a roadside trash bin. Walking a bit further, he reached a station, and soon a bus pulled up to the curb, shrouded in clouds of thick white smoke from its exhaust pipe. This machine, outwardly resembling earthly counterparts, was, however, larger and far more primitive. Two-storied, without window glass or air conditioning, it could cram in over a hundred passengers when packed.
Reyn squeezed inside and, pulling a pre-prepared copper fox from his pocket, handed it to the conductor.
The middle-aged woman tore off a ticket. As she passed it to Reyn, her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, and her previously impassive expression lit up with a smile:
"Young man, there are free seats in the back. Please go through."
"Thanks," Reyn nodded almost imperceptibly, pulling his hat lower, and pushed to the rear of the bus.
"Sometimes being too handsome is a real problem," he thought. "You want to stay in the shadows, and you immediately attract attention. Looks like I'll have to mask my face somehow so I don't stand out too much."
No sooner had Reyn sat down than the driver yanked the cord of the large bell mounted at the front of the bus. A loud ring echoed—"Ding-ding-ding!"—warning pedestrians to get out of the way. Then the bus lurched forward, swaying as it gradually picked up speed.
It was heading east, toward the final stop in Rienflale—the poorest district of Longsand, which city dwellers contemptuously called the slums.
Originally, the Rien district was mostly inhabited by villagers seeking a better life in the city. Unable to afford high rents, they toiled in factories by day and spent nights in the city's remotest corners. Over time, the slums formed that way. In any world, poverty inevitably breeds crime.
Rien, located in the eastern part of Longsand, was the largest district, occupying nearly a third of the city, but in terms of law and order, it was the worst. All sorts of vagrants, gang members, criminals, unemployed, and tens of thousands of poor mingled here. Among them hid many dangerous individuals; murders happened almost daily, not to mention the countless shady dealings under cover of night.
No self-respecting person would want to live in Rienflale.
That was exactly what Reyn needed. He didn't want his former classmates or friends to recognize him and for rumors to reach Ramzi. Those who could afford academy tuition had decent means and rarely ventured into such dangerous places. Hiding out in Rienflale for a while seemed a sensible decision that would also simplify his next moves.
He glanced at the passengers in the bus. Since rush hour had passed, it wasn't packed. Most were dressed very modestly, if not outright poorly. Deep fatigue was etched on every face; people sat with vacant expressions, as if worn out by a hopeless life and its burdens.
Reyn looked away, leaned back against the rusty seatback, and closed his eyes, intending to rest a bit.
Soon the bus entered the Rien district. The scenery outside gradually became more monotonous, roads narrower, houses more cramped. The streets on both sides filled with noise and bustle: traders swarmed the sidewalks, hawking their wares at the top of their lungs—bread, cigarettes, fruits, beer, newspapers... and many other everyday items. Beggars lurked in alleys. Ragged, they either sat begging or lay motionless on the ground like corpses. No passerby spared them even a fleeting glance.
The driver rang the bell constantly, making the crowd part. Even inside the bus, the stench from the street wafted in from time to time. It came from roadside gutters, so foul it turned the stomach. But the passengers seemed long accustomed to it—no one even winced.
Reyn didn't wait for the end and got off at an intermediate stop. No sooner had he stepped onto the ground than seven or eight ragged children surrounded him. Yellow-faced and emaciated, they eyed him with greedy cunning.
Reyn didn't give in to pity. Among these beggars, few innocent souls likely remained; most probably moonlighted as pickpockets. Keeping his hand discreetly pressed to the money hidden under his clothes, he quickened his pace before they could close in tighter and dashed away from the stop, shaking off the pack of kids.
He moved cautiously along the street, intending to find a cheap inn to use as temporary shelter.
Walking the streets of Rien, Reyn was most struck by the crowds—people everywhere. It reminded him of internet videos of Indian slums he'd seen: the same crush, and wherever you went, hostile stares drilled into you, making you uneasy. Still, even in this other world, Rien looked better than Indian slums. At least, of the three evils—"dirt, chaos, and poverty"—Rien had only chaos and poverty; there wasn't that much dirt.
Suddenly, ahead at the crossroads, an open space appeared. It was a small square, on one side of which loomed a majestic church. Not huge in size, but two even colonnades of tall round pillars on the facade, along with walls and dome of stone blocks, gave it a solid, even epic look.
This was the Church of the God of Justice. Similar temples dotted Longsand, each overseeing its district.
"No wonder everyone avoids the square," Reyn realized.
The Empire officially supported three orthodox churches, and the Church of the God of Justice was one. Though its followers weren't the most numerous, the god himself inspired the greatest awe. People revered and feared him, avoiding dealings with his church unless absolutely necessary. The God of Justice, Tyrael, patronized "justice," "order," "law," "judgment," and "protection." Most followers served in courts or law enforcement. Generally, those who tangled with the Church of Justice ended up as either victims or defendants. Neither boded well, so people kept their distance.
Besides the Church of Justice, the Empire's other two orthodox churches were the Goddess of Magic's "Church of Knowledge and Magic" and the Earth Mother Goddess's "Church of the Earth." Together, they formed the Triune Church. Most Imperial subjects followed one of these three deities.
Reyn's family had followed the Goddess of Magic. He remembered his mother, Marinda, as especially devout: she prayed to the goddess before meals and bedtime, and any free moment. She taught at their hometown's church school and was a missionary, bringing the goddess's light of wisdom to pupils. The previous Reyn, it seemed, wasn't particularly religious. He prayed rarely, once every ten days or less.
Passing the square, Reyn glanced at the church. He was about to look away when a deep toll rang from the church bell tower, echoing far across the area. At the same time, a squad of guards in gleaming silver armor emerged from the church's main gates. Marching in lockstep, they descended the stone steps and formed up on the square.
Such a significant event halted passersby, who turned curious eyes to the square.
"What's happening?"
Like the others, Reyn watched the unfolding scene with interest. More people gathered at the square's edge, and soon the crowd was so dense that Reyn, caught in the front rows, couldn't escape, involuntarily becoming one of the gawkers.
The silver-armored guards spread out in the square's center. Their armor reflected light, longswords plunged into the stone slabs, hands resting on hilts. Motionless as statues, they exuded austerity and majesty.
Reyn, just a few steps from the guards, took the chance to examine them closely. The guards' armor was a full plate set of superb craftsmanship, forged from solid metal plates joined seamlessly. It comprised many parts: breastplate, pauldrons, bracers, gauntlets, greaves, sabatons. Elbows and knees were protected by artfully made joints. With the almost fully enclosed helmet, featuring only a T-shaped visor for the eyes, the whole ensemble was incredibly heavy, like an iron tin can.
An ordinary person in such armor would struggle to move, but these guards moved freely and stood utterly relaxed. This detail told Reyn of their extraordinary strength, and he immediately recalled: these were the "Squires of the Holy Sword" of the Church of Justice.
The Church of Justice possessed an extraordinarily powerful supernatural class known as the "Holy Swordsman." They typically wore heavy armor and masterfully wielded both sword and spiritual power. Each Holy Swordsman was raised by the church from youth. They were the god's most devoted followers, executing his divine decrees, upholding order, guarding law and justice—true vicars of the God of Justice in the mortal world!
Before becoming Holy Swordsmen, they were called Squires of the Holy Sword. Squires remained ordinary humans, though long training endowed them with strength surpassing the norm. They served as reserves for Holy Swordsmen or lifelong church guards.
Dong!
Another bell toll echoed from the church, and another group emerged. Leading was a tall middle-aged man. He too wore full plate, a white cloak billowing behind, but no helmet, revealing his face. Stern features, piercing gaze, short-cropped chestnut hair, neat beard. Broadly built, his stride confident and firm. His whole bearing inspired trust and a sense of reliability.
In his hand, he held a sword—longer and broader than usual, but not yet two-handed. It seemed usable with one or both hands. Reyn noticed golden scales engraved on his breastplate. The sword served as the scales' beam, its point downward toward an open book of law.
"That's the sacred symbol of the God of Justice," Reyn had seen it before and recognized it instantly.
Whispers in the crowd named the man:
"Lord Demps!"
"A Holy Swordsman—what power..."
"Of course, Lord Demps isn't just any Holy Swordsman. They say he's long reached mid-rank and might get promoted and transferred soon."
Two guards followed Demps, carrying a black platform. Made of metal, it stood about half human height. A depression marked its center, the surface speckled with dark red stains, like dried blood.
The black platform's appearance elicited a fearful murmur from the crowd.
Someone nearby whispered in fright:
"The block! A trial ceremony! Did someone fall? Or did a curse awaken in someone?"
Soon, the crowd got their answer. Guards brought out a haggard-faced man. Silver chains bound his body tightly around the torso. Arms tied behind his back, legs in shackles. He descended the church steps with difficulty, step by step.
"Ruiz!"
Someone in the crowd recognized the chained man.
The man called Ruiz, previously semiconscious, suddenly shuddered at his name and cried out:
"Let me go! What are you doing?"