NOVEL NEXT Chapter 19: The Troubling Secret
“But I’m not a trained priestess!” argues the fairy healer, the only champion of Munera’s arena who had never been forced to participate in any events, as she is the one who heals the freshly resurrected corpses after Munera returns them from the grave. She is being carried by the back of her robe by two large, thick fingers. “I just learned holy-magic from some books I stole.”
The cyclops that is carrying her looks down. “Boss says you listen,” grunts the giant monster, acting as Munera’s enforcer and public relations manager, both at once.
“But I’m not qualified!” she squeaks, flailing her arms at him as they walk through the newly upgraded champion’s quarters, which are honestly quite luxurious now for those who stay here. Even for those who haven’t spent any of their own points yet to buy some advanced amenities, the standard of living has raised quite nicely.
She’s lifted up toward one big eye, which alone is larger than she herself is. “Boss says you listen,” repeats the cyclops, getting annoyed. “Or poof.”
The fairy gulps.
As far as anyone is concerned, she may be the one person who has gotten away the luckiest. She was raised from the dead, which she is certainly eager about. Not being dead is one of her greatest passions in life. She loves not being dead. She could enjoy not being dead every day for the rest of her life. Plus, she never had to get traumatized in the arena, like a lot of the others.
— Her gaze turns, looking at the champions.
Sure, there are many souls who are built for combat sports. But there are many more here who are clearly not. Many lie sobbing or hiding in their beds, likely still recovering from being brutally cut apart. Those wounds are healed, but the feelings of pain and powerlessness are very, very real, and some just can’t process them.
Quietly, the fairy looks back at the cyclops and nods. “Okay. I’ll do it,” she concedes.
The cyclops opens a wooden door built into the stone wall between the quarters and the bathing area, and then just drops her inside, slamming the door shut behind her and trapping her in the small room that is the size of a broom closet. There’s nothing in here except for a small bench, a separating wall with a window, and a curtain.
It’s a confessional booth.
“Just a few more weeks…” mutters the fairy to herself.
She gets one point every time there is an event, even if she doesn’t need to participate, as her payment for healing the wounded. She’s placed some smart, low risk bets that didn’t pay out well but did pay out a little. This has allowed her to make it all the way to almost fifty points of the hundred she needs to buy her freedom, and that’s without ever getting crushed, squished, ripped in half, her wings plucked, her head plucked, her limbs plucked, or anything else of that nature.
Fairies are easy to pluck things from.
Sighing, she flies into the air and grabs the curtain with both hands, struggling to slowly pull it open.
“…Is someone there?” asks a voice almost immediately. The owner isn’t visible through the grated mesh screen that covers the window between the two halves of the confessional. “I have something to confess.”
She rolls her eyes, clearing her throat, and puts on her best ‘priestessy’ voice. “I am here, child,” says the fairy, landing on the little sill of the window and leaning back against the frame, crossing her arms.
“I have committed a sin, sister,” says the voice. “Something terrible.”
“Come on,” she replies. “It can’t be that bad in comparison to all the murder, right?” asks the fairy.
The man on the other side clears his throat. It’s quiet for a while before he goes on. “Well, you see… It all began when I bought that live chicken from the dungeon item shop,” he explains. “— I can still hear it clucking, sister.”
The fairy looks back toward the door, rethinking if this was really a good idea.
The cyclops is staring ominously toward her through the crack of the open door.
“…Go on…” she says, looking back at the mesh window.
Honestly, it isn’t really sure how, but the situation really has been saved. A little glitter and some shiny things really go a long way to easing the humans’ fears about the odd one or two tripping stones that have been found along the way, such as the resurrection of the Demon-Queen, who wants to devour all life on the world.
Tidbits.
The swarm of young priests and priestesses who are still in training and on an excursion out from the city ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’ as they look at the things that Munera has created to help polish the public image of the colosseum a little more.
The bishops were a little tense after the whole Demon-Queen incident, but after the hero was resurrected, they calmed down a little, before getting upset about blasphemy or something along those lines. But at the end of it all, the hero put on a great show, and the ranking members of the church, not able to admit that it was their own decisions that allowed the situation to advance this far toward anarchy to begin with, played the whole situation off as if it had been the plan all along.
‘Of course they knew that the Demon-Queen would be returned. But that’s no matter, because she’s nothing compared to the hero. And she’s trapped underground anyway. Really, this is best for the world. They’ve subverted the annual hundred-year crisis by triggering it themselves in a controlled demolition rather than letting it unfold naturally. They’re geniuses, honestly.’
That’s the story they’ve woven, at least, and Munera is more than happy to let them have it. In fact, it’s even gone out of its way to help them along in the interest of mutual cooperation.
The students of the faith squawk in excitement as they look at the golem, one of many, that guards the dungeon’s many pathways. It’s a towering white-stone behemoth, covered in raiments of the faith, like a grand gargoyle come to life.
This kind of stuff is exactly what helps keep humans calm.
The public believes the church’s story that the colosseum core is working together with them in this matter, and things like this seal that lie in the eyes of the public.
Munera doesn’t really care about what happens to the human domains, their Holy-Church, and all of that. But this is what stops the world from revolting against it, so a few pretty rock monsters and a new cathedral carved into the side of the dungeon are small prices to pay to allow this to happen.
Besides, it’s not like this is a totally one-sided gesture. The golems protect the dungeon and the cathedral, well…
— It has a positive effect in its own way.
“Anyways, wow. I really do feel a lot better now!” says the voice from the other side of the confessional. “Thanks, sister!”
The fairy, sitting there with her knees pulled inward, her elbows resting on top of them, and her folded hands silently pressed against her mouth, turns her head. Her eyes somehow look much more tired than they did when this started hours ago.
— That poor chicken.
“You’re welco-” she starts, dryly, her eyes showing a deep lifelessness within them that has grown a little more today.
The door on the other end of the confessional slams, the chicken-guy letting out a surprised yelp as something snarls. There is a sound of a body rolling across stones, and then the door slams again as someone sits down.
“Worm!” hisses a voice from the other end of the confessional. “You WILL listen to my tribulations and offer my counsel,” it commands. “Or I will suck the flesh off of your bones.”
With a twitching eye, the fairy looks at the mesh. It's quiet for a moment, before she relents. “What… What is troubling you, child?” she asks, feeling that this is going to be another excursion, just like the last.
The voice, clearly belonging to the Demon-Queen, chitters as she sits down. “It all began when I was a girl…”
The fairy lets her head drop down to her knees as she sits there, listening, wondering if maybe dying in the arena isn’t better than this after all.
Nearby, a skeleton screams softly in the distance.
