𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

FOUR

Anton was blessed by the gods—he seemed to be kissed by some sort of ephemeral glow, bathed in a resplendent light that made his cerulean eyes just more obvious; and his lips were the same shade as Snow White's were imagined to be. Briefly, Y/n wondered when the poisoned apple would touch it.

It was no wonder he had everyone worshiping him. And everyone was constantly rushing to do his errands. Y/n suspected Anton took some kind of twisted delight in watching the people he viewed as ants as so submissive, so easy to manipulate and bend to his will. In fact, Anton probably had some sort of visceral fear of people turning against him, but it was something that wouldn't happen.

[ New Quest: Help the village
Rewards: 500 points/ Level up to level 3
Citizen's trust
Spin ]

....500 points? Leveling up just after he advanced to level two? Certainly, the quest would be of a certain difficulty.

"We don't have enough people to cleanse the village," Mills said, "we need helping hands. It's a good thing you offered....Y/n." The way he said his name was almost in a rush—like he was eager to get the bitter words out in his mouth, lest God hear him mutter the name of a liar...a sinner.

"And by cleanse..." Y/n hadn't really thought of it. He had some vague memory of heading in the village when he actually played the game, but other than that?

"You'll see when you get there." Mills said in clipped, rigid tones. It was clear he didn't like to associate with someone like Y/n. The way he said it—the tone—almost reminded him of his parent's rather dysfunctional relationship, where his father's work was punctuated with a long line of mistresses, people whose identities were blurred, and their words sensual and with meaning. They were divorced, and for a small moment, Y/n contemplated if "breaking the rules of marriage" was also considered a sin.

Living for a few weeks or so—Y/n had lost all concept of time—begged the real question: truly, what wasn't a crime? Even breathing seemed to make you condemned.

"Father Anton is wonderful, isn't he? Human made ephemeral, and ephemera made human."

"Right." Y/n lied. Hell, even the guys? What kind of regimen were they in?

"More like some guy with a god complex..." Y/n muttered under his breath. In fact, priests were even wealthy enough to be on par with royalty. They lived a remarkably lavish lifestyle, from the divine food they got to eat, drenched in luxurious seasonings and sauces—the one time Y/n ate a small bite, the food had practically melted on his tongue. The temple was considered a sacred place, and Y/n supposed in some ways, it was good. It meant you could choose who you wanted to see, unlike the busy empire where people littered your life, popping up from every crevice and gap.

"We're here." Mills told Y/n, his voice in breathy wonder and in a reverent tone, "oh, do you think that if I pull this off ...Father Anton will praise me?"

They arrived at the village. It was a quaint location, surrounded by lush trees and beautiful greenery. However, it was awfully eerie—there was no one in sight. If Y/n strained his ears, he could hear small whisperings—and he knew the tone. He knew the tone very well: the shivery slivers, the tremor of the bottom lip, the trembling of fingers.

Y/n glanced at Mills's peculiar motions. Mills's actions were like a hunter preparing to hunt prey: from the slow, deliberate movement and the way he took out a branch, then strange words flowed from his lips.

Cleansing. Fear. Branch. Magic.

"Oh, god no..." Y/n whispered under his breath, stopping in his steps. "Heavens, they are not—they are not planning to—"