Brand-Bound: Hallowed Be The Menu [Rivals-to-Lovers Slowburn Fantasy Romance]

Part I: The Many Riddles of Turandot

So quiet and unassuming was Riverglen that its city guard was relegated to one of two duties. First: manning the wall, a yawn-worthy role that existed to keep the odd wild dire-boar out of the market. The second task was a ceremonial duty, but no less important to Riverglen's spiritual role within the Church of the Menu: To guard the sewers, within which recent converts learned how to vanquish sewer vermin.

A constant drip-drip of water off overhead brick echoed from deeper into the sewers. Ahead, a bright glare of midday sun shone through secure grate bars.

There wasn't much to guard—they stood watch by the entrance, so eager converts were not overwhelmed by their first rat or slime. During the slower winter seasons, when the Grand Pilgrimage saw fewer adherents due to the less-than-favorable weather farther down the path, the lowly level-2 Dire-Rats down here would all fuse into a level 8-10 Rat King. A bit much for level 1 initiates fresh from the conversion hall to handle. These pious but overeager converts tended to rush into the Pilgrimage path before they even knew how to properly quick-open their Menu!

Alas, rescuing off-season would-be pilgrims from level-10 Rat Kings proved enough to promote Calaf, the brave and devout sewer guard, to level 7 in less than half a decade of leal service. Each day, brave Calaf stood a dutiful watch at the entrance to these sewers, alongside his partner.

Traffic was lax on this day, with the holy pilgrimage season still in its early phases. Until that is, four figures approached, silhouettes in the evening light.

"Hail, travelers!" Calaf raised his visor. "You embark now on this greatest of ancestral duties: vermin exterminator!"

Each convert started at level one. Those like Calaf who were born into the faith inherited the Brand from birth. But these travelers had recently chosen to undergo the Branding process, typically on a visible spot of their arm or face.

"The Ancient Heroes of Yore once patrolled these same sewers," said a bored voice across the way from Calaf.

Calaf bowed to the converts. "Here they honed their skills, after being blessed with the Holy Menu… and where you, too, shall practice your skills before departing on the grand and holy pilgrimage. Greetings, pilgrims. I am…"

A window of the Holy Menu manifested, a common introduction among the faithful.

A dull, low yawn started at Calaf's side.

"Hey. Gorman! Introduce yourself." Calaf nudged his fellow guard in the ribs.

"Oh, right." Gorman shot up, pretending to be alert. "Greetings, brave pilgrims. I am:"

Gorman had held this exalted position for a few years longer than Calaf, hence his higher experience level. How one could fall asleep at such a prestigious post was beyond Calaf. Truly, the Most Holy Interface worked in mysterious ways.

The party began to move forward, eager to get on with their task.

"Halt!" Calaf blocked the sewer gate with a well-rehearsed motion of his spear. "Before you embark on this most sacred journey, you must prove you have mastered the Menu as the Heroes of Yore did. Show me – rather, us, your titles, brave travelers!"

One at a time, the four converts stepped forward. Interfaces shimmered at a distance, a common form of introduction under the Menu.

"No doubt planning to class into Shielder at level 3? That was my first class too," Calaf said, then allowed this prospective hero to walk through the threshold.

Next stepped a second pilgrim, a young woman with sandy blonde hair who could pass as Jorge's close cousin:

A future Cleric. Among the holiest classes under the Menu.

"Go in peace, sister!" Calaf said, then let her through.

Next up stepped a figure with a sly grin and a roguish countenance:

"Been training your skills on the local boar population?" Calaf laughed. "Shows foresight. Good luck on your travels."

A final initiate remained:

"Might want to heal those sniffles," Gorman said, proving he was paying some modicum of attention. "It might not seem like it affects your combat capabilities, but even the slightest status effect can make the difference between a victorious battle and a crushing defeat."

Calaf nodded in agreement. "Any one of you could be the world's next hero. Go, fear not the rats. There will be a time when their claws cannot even bypass your armor rating."

Four prospective heroes entered the sewers, in search of rats.

Just another day at this most exalted post underneath Riverglen. The first station on the Grand Pilgrimage.

Calaf and Gorman could usually hear the Cathedral of the Menu's grand bells ring through the earth and brickwork thrice daily. The cathedral grounds lay in a wooded park across the river, but the thundering cry could easily echo through the porous stones and labyrinthine sewers of Riverglen.

By the time the chimes reached the sewers, the grand bells sounded more like this: Pling plong pling. Pling pling plong, plong plong. Plooooong.

Such as it was every day, each day of the week, as Calaf stood at his post.

Until this day. Today, the ringing started up… only to splutter out with a curt pling plonnnnnnnng.

Echoes carried on for a time. Then, only silence reigned.

Calaf looked at the damp ceiling above them. It trembled, imperceptibly, from a most unnatural tremor. Then, he looked at the light pointing out toward the riverside through the sewer entrance.

"How do the choirboys drop the damn bell when it's Menu-compatible?" Gorman asked..

"Even so." Calaf's brow furrowed. "Something's wrong."

Why, using the bell was a simple act of the Holy Menu! Select [Action], motion over to [Item: Bell], and click [Use]. It should be hard to whiff at that, let alone cause the bell to cut off mid-ring.

Calaf's ears were focused on the din across the river. Echoes distorted the sound, but even at this distance, it was hard not to miss the screams.

"Maybe some goblins got past the gate guards?" Gorman said. "Not the most competent lot."

"No. This is coming from…" Calaf focused his ears. "Yes, from the church itself. Has to be."

"Been putting points into hearing?" Gorman asked.

"Where else could it be?" Calaf huffed. "Stay here. I'm going to go investigate."

One of the guards needed to stay behind to patrol the sewers. But they were guards of the Church of the Most Holy Menu, so they were also honor-bound to protect the cathedral if any crisis was brewing.

"I'll keep an ear out and make sure a Rat King doesn't get the converts." Gorman chuckled to himself.

Calaf stepped into the light.

Smoke billowed from the Cathedral of the Menu, curling through shattered stained glass. Shouts and panic came from Riverglen's central courtyard. No licks of flame were visible from across the river, but where there was smoke…

"Looks like the cathedral is ablaze!" Calaf shouted down the tunnel. "Go find the initiates and tell them to wait before venturing deeper into the sewer."

If there were an emergency down here, one that required healers, they may not be able to bring in a proper cleric.

Only, instead of an alert grunt in response from Gorman, Calaf instead heard the echoing din of screams and shattering metal wafting off the brickwork.

What is going on here?! Calaf thought as he trudged back into the sewers.

Three snarling balls of Rat Kings awaited in the sewer's first chamber. Each beast was a writhing ratnado of teeth and tails, twisted together in an accursed fleshy tangle. The largest rat in each cluster wore a fancy gilded crown.

Wherever did the beasts get those? Calaf wondered as he prepared for battle. No time to think— the initiates are in danger!

One was already on the ground:

Death's Door! A dire status effect. The Interface told Calaf and all Branded within line of sight that even a single blow would mean this pilgrim's end!

Another member of the party took a glancing blow from the lead Rat King right in front of Calaf's eyes:

Plagued! Calaf knew the dire-rat swarm had inflicted this status effect upon the hapless pilgrim. Purification or an antidote was required. Otherwise…

With a wobble, Gerard's health dropped to 2, then 1. Then he, too, received the death's door status.

Dire rats weren't supposed to spread the plague! It was a foul status effect more common to the Fellmarsh swamps, far to the north. There had hardly been enough rats in here this morning to form even a single rat king, let alone three. Worse still, the levels were off. Level 12? Far stronger than any rat ever should be.

Gorman was already standing between the two yet-unpoisoned neophytes and the tri-cluster rat swarm. Calaf brandished his spear and joined Gorman in the rotation order.

Calaf lunged, driving his spear into the nearest Rat King. Five hit points vanished from the lead beast.

"There we go!" Gorman barked. "Hold 'em steady!"

Gorman, too, thrust at the Rat King as it writhed on Calaf's spear.

Hit!

Defeated. The plain text appeared in a handy Menu designation generated from the Brand on Calaf's upper-left arm to confirm the kill. Rat King (1) disintegrated at the tail. Some handful of survivors slunk into divots and drainage ditches.

"Two more to go," Gorman huffed. "By the Cleric's besainted tits, I'd rather be at a feast day right now. Just don't get—"

The remaining two Rat Kings lunged, whirlwind of fangs bared. One whiffed and careened into the sewer wall. The other barreled into Gorman, biting and scratching.

"Aw, same to you, then!" Gorman whacked the nearest Rat King with the butt of his spear, then thrust with the pointy end.

Critical hit!

Another down. All the while, though, Gorman's health ticked down, visible in a Menu interface… 27… 26…

One last foe was all that remained. Only… it was going for Sarah, the initiates' team cleric-to-be!

"Watch out!" Calaf lunged, taking the blow for the would-be healer.

A Shielder's effect resistance came through.

Praise be to the Interface! Calaf let out a quick prayer. The scratch still hurt like hell despite his well-crafted Iron Banded Guard's Mail.

Twin blows from Gorman and Calaf's spears finished the final Rat King.

And then, as a quick and unobtrusive update in the lower-right of the fighters' vision…

Items Obtained: Rat King's Crown (x3), Sewer Trash (x5), Gold (x15), Experience: 86 XP

None knew where the gold came from. Answers were not even in the sacred texts. But the money distributed itself into the guards' and initiates' interfaces. Sewer trash required no explanation. And Rat King's Crowns were… used for crafting something, Calaf didn't know what, as item crafting was not his primary skillset.

"Here, you two take them." Calaf gave all three crowns to the two initiates still standing.

And as for experience…

Gorman: +41 XP (129/500)

Calaf: +45 XP (123/130)

So close to a level up. But it was not to be.

"You're lot are lucky Calaf and I were able to get here in time," Gorman said, health still decreasing. "Rat Kings… and over-leveled. What could have caused that, huh?"

Left to its own devices, Gorman's plague would time out with 5 HP to spare. As it was, Sarah ran up and provided Gorman with an antidote.

"I, ah, don't have healing spells yet…" Sarah said sheepishly.

"Don't worry." Gorman stretched, though strain from the status effect was obvious in his voice. "Initiates seldom need them. Could complete this station of the Pilgrimage unarmed, theoretically. These Rat Kings were well beyond what any of you are meant to deal with."

"That's why we're here," Calaf added.

The two initiates on the floor remained still. HP hovering precariously at death's door. Left untreated they would inevitably cross the zero-HP threshold and they would die. Healing serums were standard issue among sewer guards for just such an occasion. Calaf handed his stash to Gorman via the Menu's trading Interface. Twin Menus appeared to facilitate the transaction.

Trade: Calaf: Basic Poultice of Revival (x5)

TO Gorman: None

"We have to evacuate these initiates," Calaf said, still driven by adrenaline.

"Don't need to convince me," Gorman said. Poison-free, the relief was clear in his voice. "I'll get 'em out of here, then lock the grating so nobody else can come through until we figure out what is happening. You head to the church, make sure any fires are put out, then find a priest who can exorcise the rats here, keep 'em from over-leveling again."

Once more, Calaf emerged into the fading light of a Riverglen dusk.

Faint sounds of panic sounded up ahead, but the immediate danger had subsided. A faint haze of smoke filled the air. Was there still a fire? Had it been extinguished? These thoughts raced through Calaf's head as he advanced.

A crowd of worshipers remained outside the cathedral doors. Scared. Weeping. Kept out of the church by a wall of beleaguered guards from the wall garrison. But Calaf pushed forward, searching for the one he feared for most.

"Charlotte!"

A woman slightly shorter than Calaf in the finest of white church-going dresses led numerous mid-level worshipers in prayer. Her Menu designation was thus:

"I saw something burning from the sewer grate," Calaf said.

"Oh, beloved Calaf! Thank the Interface you are here." Deaconess Charlotte spoke only after she finished her prayers.a few moments later. "It was horrible. The fire was but a distraction. Some sort of smoke device in the belfry, a distraction. You shan't go into the cathedral hall, my love. It's the Prior… he was…"

His beloved Charlotte was unhurt. But Prior Yordan… could it be? Calaf rushed through the line of beleaguered level-4 town guards who were blocking the civilian entrance to the church.

Pandemonium had rushed through the halls of the First Church of the Menu like a whirlwind spell had been unleashed within. Pews were thrown aside in a panicked mad dash for the entrance. Shattered stained glass ruined the naturally serene lighting. Some parishioners had been injured in the frenzied retreat and remained, hovering around 5 HP, awaiting medical attention or to be traded a healing potion. Smoldering tapestries evidenced where some explosive had blown open a hole in the far wall, past the stage where the choir once assembled.

And there, sprawled over the altar beneath the now-broken stained glass, was the corpse of Prior Yordan.

The man who had so purposefully and selflessly raised every orphan in Riverglen. Who had personally plucked Calaf from the orphanage and provided him with the most-holy position of sewer guard! Dead. Struck down mid-communion.

Judging by the decay, this murder had occurred barely an hour ago. Rushing from the sewers right away wouldn't have helped, for the crime had already been committed.

"Where are the guard captains?" Calaf asked. Each sermon ought to be attended by a level-25 or above guard captain.

"Dead," said a basic city guardsman trying to apply a healing item to an unconscious worshiper hovering around 3 hit points. "There was another. Wild barbarian of a man. Secured the assassin's escape out the back."

Calaf checked the Brand on Yordan's corpse. The HP timer ticked down to -3.

"Get a cleric here," Calaf ordered.

They would have to perform rites before the late Prior's hit points reached -5. While no resurrection spells yet existed, at least they could preserve the body, intern it in the below-ground crypts for some future, blessed day when the coveted mass-resurrection spell was at long last developed.

Charlotte appeared, having been allowed in by the line of guards out front.

"Allow me to perform the last rites," she said.

"Of course." Calaf nodded solemnly. "Please, let me just… check the body."

Calaf consulted the Most Holy Interface, a Menu appeared hovering over the corpse of his old mentor.

"No relics…" Calaf checked again to confirm.

"That fiend. She stole them," Charlotte said. "As well as from the reliquary… it appears they stole dozens of relics earlier and were using this commotion to cover their escape."

Deaconess Charlotte placed a laced, gloved hand on Calaf's shoulder mail. "Oh, beloved Calaf. This brazen heresy demands a response."

Calaf nodded. He grimaced, averting his eyes from the murdered Prior. Anger flared.

"Go, dear. The culprit surely hasn't fled beyond the city limits." Charlotte motioned to the smoldering hole in the back of the church. "I will perform last rites to the departed."

With less than an hour since the deed, the culprits should still be attempting to lay low, Calaf thought.

Yes, there was still time. Charlotte, his betrothed, the universally loved and pure deaconess would handle the burial of his foster father. She was the ranking church officer left, with everyone else north of level twenty gone or injured.

He knew what he had to do.