"And so, a terrible thing happened. The Anjou People burned my Church, the plague carried away my parishioners, yet I alone was spared. I believe God let me live because He must want me to do something." The Priest gazed up at the sky.
"Do what?"
"I haven't figured that out yet. Perhaps He will tell me when the time is right. Until then, I must be as devout as possible. I will hold myself to the standards of a Cultivator." The Priest waved his hand.
"And so He had you run into a robber like me?" Peter shook his head.
"Perhaps you won't be, in the future."
The Priest smiled, seemingly very confident.
"Don't give me that. The plague took many people, good people included. So I decided to live life to the fullest, however I see fit." Peter wiped the wine trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Still, I'll pray for you. You saved my life."
The day they had met, Peter had eaten a diseased chicken and was in agony. The Priest had cured him.
"And you saved mine."
