𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

FIVE

[ Quest completed! You have gained
+1 spin on the wheel
+ Citizen's trust

Congrats on leveling up! ]

"You did the bare minimum." Mills said, "I asked you to cleanse the village, but I heard all you did was save a boy. Do you not care about the purity of our land?"

After the mission was over, Y/n had quickly asked Lucas to hide, but it was for naught. Quickly and swiftly, people had caught sight of him with the boy and had quickly reported it to the higher ups, much to Y/n's dismay. The only thing he could be grateful for was the fact that the items he had attained hadn't been affected.

"He was in danger." Y/n swallowed.

"I knew it," Mills hissed, "I just knew it. You went against Sir Anton's words—you don't have the intention of obeying him anytime soon. I ask you to help cleanse the village; you do the opposite. You save the sinner. Like attracts like, Y/n. I warn you. You be careful on how you act around here; everyone knows you are a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"I'm sorry," Y/n said quietly. The words were a lie. Choosing harsh words and humanity was not a difficult choice to make. In fact, he had to actively choose the good option—always—in order to cling on to the tiny blip of sanity he had left. Whatever coherent thoughts he had in mind had been sunken in a fit of despair and horror. The frightened, horrified screams were still imprinted on his head, etched cruelly in his memory, and dug into the skin of his flesh. Y/n desperately wanted to forget, but his mind would not let him, like a stubborn child.

Mills stared at him. A soft sigh seemed to escape from his lips.

"I am not the one you should be apologizing to," He said curtly, "it must be Father Anton."

But he'll kill me.

"You reap what you sow," Mills narrowed his eyes upon seeing the look of resignation that dawned upon Y/n's face, "you must learn that. Engrave it—burn it in the back of your head." His vindictive smile only grew wider at the choice of words, which made Y/n flinch.

"Where is he?" Y/n tensed.

"I hear that he is at the confessions room," Mills said, "it is not cordial for someone to interrupt in the middle of a confession, but this is urgent."

"Urgent?" Y/n repeated.

"You committed another sin, Y/n." Mills said gravely, "and you know the punishment, don't you? You have to lay your soul bare to Father Anton. Plead. Beg. Ask for forgiveness. That is the only way you can survive." He shook his head. "The last time, I got off lucky."

"What exactly is your definition of lucky?"

"I didn't accept the food the Church gave me, so they starved me," Mills said bluntly, "but now I know. The church offers such wonderful food—unctuous and fragrant and simply drizzled with honey...one must appreciate the things we have."

"They couldn't have starved you." Y/n whispered, voice raspy.

"Right," Mills agreed, "I was let off too easily. For not accepting God's gifts."

Enough. Y/n wanted to suffocate. Goosebumps pricked on his skin, shudders ran down his spine, and the crescent of his fingernails dug into his velvety flesh, letting beads of crimson roll out. I can't go crazy. I can't go crazy. I can't—

"What are you waiting for?" Mills's unnerving eyes looked right through Y/n's distress, "Tardiness is—"

"—a sin," Y/n finished shakily.

He turned around, and ran to the direction of the confessions room.

Y/n's heart beat erratically against his heart, as he opened the door.