The Devouring Knight

He dismounted in a single fluid motion and strode toward the man on the ground. The child's cries quieted as Lumberling knelt, his expression unreadable. From his belt, he drew a heavy pouch.

It clinked with the sound of salvation, hundreds of gold coins, far more than the guards had likely seen in years. Enough to pay the city's extortionate entry fee and still leave enough for food for months or even years.

The man stared down at the gold, eyes wide and unblinking. His fingers twitched, as if afraid to touch the impossible weight of salvation. Slowly, he glanced around, the ragged faces, the dirt-streaked children, the desperate hands reaching for what they couldn't have.

A whisper escaped his lips, barely audible over the distant clamor. "Th-thank you…"

His voice cracked, laced with disbelief and hope. For a heartbeat, he seemed frozen between despair and the fragile glimmer of trust.

Lumberling gave a curt nod, already turning away. "Share it with the others."

The man swallowed hard, clutching the pouch like a lifeline, as the sobbing crowd pressed closer.

"Let's go, Uncle Eldric."

Behind them, the crowd swelled toward the wounded man, desperate hands reaching for the pouch, their shouts mingling with sobs. Eldric glanced back once, his jaw tight, before spurring his horse after Lumberling.

They rode in silence toward the looming gates.

Finally, Lumberling broke it. "Are there places that would take them in? The cities you spoke of, the ones that still accept people, could they survive there?"

Eldric's gaze stayed on the road ahead. "Those places are bursting already. Some lords take them in for labor, some out of mercy, but there's only so much room. There's no safe place left in this war."

Lumberling's eyes narrowed as thoughts churned behind them, calculations, possibilities, plans yet unformed. He said nothing more, but the cold weight in the air lingered long after they passed through the gates.

...

The Church of the Sanctum of the Sunlit Path stood like a white monolith at the heart of the district, its spires stabbing into the sky. Sunlight poured over its gilded facade, making it gleam like a beacon of divine grace. But as Lumberling stepped inside, the air shifted.

Incense clung thick to the vaulted chamber, sweet at first but cloying the longer one breathed it. Stained-glass windows bathed the marble floor in colored light, each pane depicting saints, angels, and miracles. Priests moved about in their gold-threaded vestments, their steps measured and faces carefully serene.

Lumberling approached the nearest priest, Eldric leaning heavily on him.

"I'm afraid we can't heal your companion," the priest said, his tone polite yet firm.

Lumberling's voice came low and flat. "Why not?"

The priest's gaze flickered toward Eldric. "His injuries are too severe. The mana required would be… considerable. With so many in need, our resources must be used wisely."

Lumberling caught the meaning beneath the pious words. 'Not worth the cost.'

He said nothing, only reached into his satchel and let a heavy bag of coins drop onto the marble floor with a dull, solid thump. The sound turned heads. Gold coins spilled against the polished stone, their gleam reflected in the priest's widening eyes.

"This should cover it," Lumberling said.

The priest hesitated, lips pressed tight, then bent to collect the bag. His voice warmed instantly. "Of course. We will see to him at once." He gestured, and robed healers emerged from a side chamber, their hands already glowing faintly with divine light.

The healing almost took an hour, Eldric's wounds were gone, his breathing steady, his skin flush with color once more.

Eldric flexed his arm, testing the restored strength in the muscles. The faint glow of healing still lingered beneath his skin.

"Better?" Lumberling asked.

Eldric gave a slow nod, though his eyes weren't on Lumberling. They drifted instead to the heavy pouch of gold now resting on the priest's table, its drawstrings still loose from where it had been emptied earlier.

He let out a breath that wasn't quite a sigh. "Used to be different," he murmured, almost to himself. "A man's worth wasn't measured in the weight of his coin."

The words hung between them for a beat before he forced a wry smile. "Still… I won't pretend I'm not grateful."

"Now," Lumberling said with a dry chuckle, "I understand what you told me about the Church."

Eldric could only give a bitter smile. "It's the way of things. If those in power call it holy, then it becomes law."

Lumberling's thoughts drifted to the elves, their healers could mend wounds like Eldric's instantly without asking for a single coin. He had paid hundreds of gold here for what they would have done freely. The taste it left in his mouth was not incense, but ash.

...

After Eldric's wound was seen to, they made their way toward the main street. A murmur of voices drifted from ahead, low at first, then swelling into a chorus that rolled over the roadway like the tide.

They turned the corner and found the source.

A crowd had gathered before the marble steps of the Sunlit Path Church, pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air heavy with incense and reverence. Some knelt upon the cobblestones, hands clasped in fervent prayer; others simply stared, as though afraid to blink. The scent of burning myrrh mingled with the faint metallic tang of the city's winter air.

Chants rose and fell in practiced unison, praises carried on trembling voices, hymns shaped to honor a single figure at the center of it all.

Protected by a ring of armored Knights, three of whom radiated the unmistakable strength of Knight One Stage, stood a young woman. Her presence drew eyes the way a flame did moths.

Before her knelt a gaunt man in silk robes, skin pale with illness, lips cracked from fever. He looked like a noble brought low by something coin alone could not cure. He clutched her wrist as if it were the only tether keeping him from slipping into death.

"Who's that, Uncle Eldric?" Lumberling asked quietly.