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

"And lo, did the Holy Priestess carve into Deepwood bark the Divine Calculation:

'Ninety-two is halfway to ninety-nine'

The people and System-branded from all around did marvel in awe at this doctrine, for they saw that it was truth."

- Sermon on Leveling Distribution

"In the beginning, all was darkness," boomed Prior Yordan of Riverglen. "Mankind was alone, with neither clothing against the elements, nor weapons against the beasts."

"Life was suffering. Cold and without hope," replied the faithful among the pews, nodding solemnly.

"But rejoice! First, there was nothing. And then, there was the Menu!" Prior Yordan raised his hands upwards, beckoning to the stained-glass mural at his back.

The congregation answered, "Hark! The System and its Menu! Divine blessing from on high! Forcing order over the natural world! As the Holy Priestess decreed: All shall be Branded without exception!"

Late-evening sun reflected a kaleidoscope of hues through ornate cathedral windows. The sermon was precisely timed to coincide with the peak of the rainbow light show, bathing the buttresses, confessional booths, and pews in a symbol of divine beauty.

It was a quiet early-spring evening in Riverglen, the first among towns. A natural moat from the titular river separated the secure walls of Riverglen from the gently rolling hills of the countryside. Adjacent to the city's central square stood the spacious halls and grand towers of the First Cathedral of the Menu.

"Indeed, my flock." Yordan nodded. "Not even two leagues south of this holy ground, our blessed forefathers perfected the System and its Most Holy Interface. And with this Interface and its Blessed Menu, they rescued this tepid hollow from both beast and devilry."

"The Warrior, o martyred Paladin, who did build our first walls," the congregation droned.

"The Battlemage, court magician for hire, who did unravel the intricacies of the Holy Interface," said the prior.

"The Scout, who did trailblaze the Great Pilgrimage," answered the worshipers.

"And the Priestess," Prior Yordan concluded with a nod to his flock. "The Cleric, who did establish this, our First Church of the Menu."

The great church bells would soon sound. At that moment, a team silently worked in the high belfries, prepping the massive bells entirely via Interface. It was a feat that would have been nigh impossible for such a small crew by hand. Yet through the Menu, all things were possible.

"Together, these great heroes did push back the forces of devilry and heretical doubters both." Prior Yordan clasped his hands in prayer. "We are blessed with their Holy Interface forevermore. My flock, do open your Menus and prepare for communion."

Dozens—nay, hundreds—of unobtrusive menus unfurled before the congregation. They were fluid mirages, wafting at arm's length in front of each congregant, fully visible only to the faithful with a System Brand.

What the throngs of churchgoers could see, up at the podium, was this:

Light from the mural windows stopped dead at this translucent, bluish, shimmering display hovering before Prior Yordan's face. For it was not of the world, but a holy blessing from on high. Yordan's Brand, passed on from Prior Yonathan and a long line of deacons and clerics before him, glowed a faint blue on the palm of his right hand.

Via this Brand all faithful were marked, be they fresh converts or born into the church. To possess the Brand was to be blessed with the Menu and its Interface. The System Brand made man strong—made man transcend the boundaries of mortal strength and agility to become a holy force even demons dare cross!

"And so, my flock, if you would follow the example of that ancient hero of yore, our Besainted Priestess. Open your Inventory and thumb over to Items, then scroll down to Food and filter for 'Communion Wafers'..."

"Ahh, they had full orchestras for every sermon once—even in the smaller settlements."

A woman wearing a thick eye patch covering everything from her cheek to her left temple to the bridge of her nose closed her remaining good eye. Her hair was dark and curly. Her good eye was a rusty red. She mimed a string instrument in her hands, swaying to some old choir piece no one else could hear.

"At least that's how I remember it, back home." The woman continued to hum. "Now it's all boring sermons and droning chants."

A gruff, guttural voice came from the priest's confessional booth. Too harsh and guttural to belong to some kindly old pastor.

"Missing the orphanage?" asked the man on the other side of the confession booth.

"What? No." The woman's face contorted into a frown. "I mean, not like that."

"You're not going to be able to run in that dress."

"Relax, good sir." Jelena chuckled, adjusting the positioning on her eyepatch. "I just need to blend in until the opportune moment."

Mass was held twice weekly. Most Menu-branded citizens in town—a significant majority of Riverglen— would be here today. A stealthy approach would be impossible. Not with this many witnesses. Still, if they were quick enough, they could make some noise and mosey out before the town guard could be properly marshalled.

There was a begrudging grunt of approval from beyond the confessional shade. "Time it for when the bells ring."

"Not my first operation, 'Kidu~" the woman said with a singsong voice.

Another less approving grunt. "Don't let your guard down, Jelena."

The woman, Jelena, rose from her perch on the confessional booth. Almost showtime.

"Keep that back door open for me~" Jelena said with a playful snicker.

Outside, there was a wafting flurry of wavy, flickering sounds as the congregation began flipping through its myriad menus. The bells would chime just as they began their weekly communion.

"It's just a familiar feeling, is all," Jelena said.

Need six seconds from the moment I walk out of this booth. Columns will mask my approach, and everyone else who could see me will be too buried in their menus to react. Jelena adjusted her eyepatch.

"Hallowed is the Interface," she spoke glibly, out into the aether.

Up at the altar, Prior Yordan held his hands aloft.

"As our Great Heroes of Yore did in those ancient days, so do we select these communion wafers in your honor, oh Lord. And we do select these wafers, then hover over to 'eat,' as instructed in the holy commandments. And we do consume these wafers as offering to you in prayer, so that our faithful may follow in our heroes' footsteps down the road of the Grand Pilgrimage."

A woman in an austere dress, indistinguishable from any other worshiper, rounded an interior buttress. If congregants in the pews hadn't been distracted by their menus, they may have assumed she was a late adherent attempting to sneak in through a side door.

The great bells sounded high above. Noon had struck.

The woman wearing an eyepatch covering about half her face slunk out of the confessionary booth and scurried into the cathedral's central aisle, standing before the altar, at the steps at Prior Yordan's feet.

The Prior opened his mouth to speak, his voice inaudible over the din of the bells. The mysterious woman pulled a squat, cylindrical object out of her dress. Smoke was accompanied by a shrill and blinding flash and followed by a crack of shattering glass.

In the blink of an eye, the flock saw, reflected in the Holy Menu:

Dead.

Dead without warning. Before the congregation could summon healers or apply a salve. Dead, the status marked as clear as day on a Menu window hovering over the prior's collapsed body.

This murderer looked upon the now frightened faithful with her good eye. The one-eyed woman let out a weighty sigh.

"Just another day at the ol' haberdashery..."