The midday sun was beating down hard on the cobblestone streets, so the air felt thick and sticky, almost like breathing hot soup.
The market was an absolute disaster of noise because the merchants were shouting fake offers, kids were running around like rats and the CLANG-CLANG of a nearby blacksmith was drilling into the eardrums.
Raziel, who already had his head in a mess because of what happened at Silas's shop, was following Lucian with difficulty although he tried not to lose his pace.
"Hold this for a sec, will you, Raz?"
Without even slowing down, Lucian shoved a bunch of bags into his chest.
"Sure..."
The bags weighed a ton and stank of weird spices and alchemical chemicals, but the worst part wasn't the weight, but the attitude.
Raziel frowned, annoyed, because did Lucian really believe he was his pack mule?
This trip was supposed to be to look for answers about his curse and the Echoes, not to be the errand boy of a spoiled noble.
He was so deep in his own rage that he didn't see the loose cobblestone.
BAM!
He tripped bad. The bags went flying and he almost kissed the floor.
"Damn it..." he whispered, crawling to pick up the mess before someone stomped on it.
But when he looked up, panic froze his blood.
Lucian wasn't there.
The crowd had swallowed him.
"Lucian?" he called, although he knew his voice had no chance against the roar of the market.
Raziel felt a stab of anxiety in his chest because without Lucian, he had no entry to the Royal Monastery, and without that, his plan was going to hell.
He remembered Lucian babbling something about buying illegal "Luminescent Amber" from someone called "The Serpent".
It was a weak clue, but it was the only thing he had, so he turned toward a narrow alley that smelled like rotten fish and despair.
The market noise died down instantly, replaced by long shadows and a disturbing silence.
And then he heard it.
A sob.
Raziel stopped dead. It came from a corner full of trash, barely visible in the gloom.
He approached slowly, although every instinct from his past life screamed at him 'DON'T GET INVOLVED, IT'S A TRAP!', but his hand went straight to the silver cross on his neck.
A little girl, trembling against the dirty wall, and three hooded guys surrounding her like vultures.
Raziel felt a deep disgust. Then, something inside him, maybe the echo of a dead hero or just his own fury, ignited.
"Leave her alone," he said. His voice came out firmer than he expected.
The thugs turned around. The biggest one, a beast with scars, let out a laugh that sounded like crushed gravel.
"And what are you gonna do, huh, little priest?" he grunted. "Are you gonna hit us with your bible?"
Raziel took a step forward because he couldn't back down anymore.
He knew physically he was a weakling in this life, but he couldn't let the girl suffer.
"I said leave her," he repeated, although his hands were sweating cold.
"How cute, the little bird wants to fly," mocked another guy, cracking his knuckles.
WHAM!
Without warning, the giant lunged. A brutal punch smashed into Raziel's stomach.
Raziel fell to his knees, seeing stars, while pain exploded in his abdomen.
"Stay there, trash," the man spat.
But Raziel, driven by adrenaline and the stubbornness of someone who has died too many times, forced himself to get up. The second guy, a skinny one with a rat face, pulled out a curved knife that shined with bad intention.
"We're gonna cut your wings, little priest," he hissed.
When the guy attacked, Raziel moved. It wasn't strength, it was desperate technique. He grabbed the skinny guy's wrist and squeezed with everything he had, so the thug screamed in surprise and dropped the weapon.
The knife clattered on the cobblestones.
Raziel lunged to pick it up, but his clumsy fingers grazed the edge.
"Ah!" he exclaimed.
A thin line of blood sprouted on his palm. Although it was just a cut, it hurt in an absurd way, a chemical burning that went up his arm like liquid fire.
Because suddenly, the air changed.
WHOOSH!
A blurry figure landed in the alley with the speed of lightning.
CRACK! BAM!
It was a show of efficient violence. The figure moved like a whirlwind of steel and cloth, and in two seconds, the thugs were kissing the floor, unconscious or with broken bones.
The newcomer landed gracefully between Raziel and the girl, turning her back to him.
When she straightened up and turned around, Raziel's breath cut off because that woman's presence was crushing.
She wore dark Paladin armor, with the symbol of Zhalyr on the chest, but what really terrified were her eyes.
Intense and Judging emerald green.
She didn't look Raziel in the face.
She looked at the ground.
There, scattered among the trash of the alley, were the broken bags Raziel had dropped.
Vials of shady liquids, narcotic herbs and a box with forbidden symbols were rolling on the ground.
The Paladin narrowed her eyes and a grimace of disgust curved her lips.
"It doesn't look very... 'holy' for a novice of the Church to be carrying black market contraband, right, Brother?" she said, and her voice had the edge of a guillotine.
Raziel felt his face burning with shame and panic.
"They aren't mine!" he stammered, although he knew he sounded guilty. "I swear, that's from... I was just..."
He shut up. He couldn't rat out Lucian, but the way she looked at him, as if he were a corrupt insect, turned his stomach. He had just tried to be a hero, and yet, now he looked like the villain of the story.
"Maybe you should choose your friendships better, Brother," sentenced the Paladin, taking a step toward him, making her armor resonate in the silence of the alley.
"Or did you already forget the vows you swore to protect?"