"Nolan really was a fine city."
In a tavern called Black Stone and Barbecue, a female knight in silver-white armor set down the wooden mug in her hand.
Her name was Messiah, the same name as the Holy Church Country. That did not mean her identity was extraordinary; it was simply that the nun who had taken her in hoped this name bestowed by the God of Holy Light and Justice Monicar would protect her and see her through the suffering of illness and weakness.
Messiah firmly believed that the nun who had raised her had received an answer to her prayers. Abandoned in the wilderness as a sickly child, she had been given a new life. More than that, after reaching adulthood, she had become a proud member of the Holy Army.
"So why did you insist on bringing me to a place like this?"
Messiah swirled the ale in her wooden mug. She did not like drinking; it clouded her mind. She needed to remain clear-headed at all times, so she could remember what her faith was.
"Lady Messiah, we are missionaries now, not the Holy Army. The Spellcasters in Nolan's Upper District are far too stubborn. It is difficult to make them listen to our doctrine."
The speaker was Messiah's adjutant. He wore spotless white robes and looked very young. He glanced at the scene behind him. Calling it noisy would have been praise—it was utter chaos.
More than eighty percent of the tavern's patrons were Dwarves. Every night they visited the tavern as though they were attending a festival. No wonder Messiah, who had always preferred quiet, disliked this atmosphere.
"Also, I had always thought that you preferred older men, Lady Messiah."
The adjutant looked toward the Holy Army knight beside him. He had not served