The next day, the eighth day of the instance.
At two in the afternoon, the sky was still dim.
Lead-gray clouds hung low, filtering the sunlight into a bleak, oppressive white that fell feebly across the empty square before Harvest Church.
The air was filled with the damp chill left behind by the polluted rain, tainted with the scents of rust and decay. It silently ate away at every inch of space.
The square before the church felt even more solemn than it had that morning. Nearly forty members of the church had assembled in formation. Most wore grave expressions and gripped their weapons tightly, their armor and robes gleaming with a cold, hard sheen in the faint light.
These people were combatants specially trained by the Mother Goddess Church. Unlike the deacons, they had received a weaker blessing from the Mother Goddess, so they weren't qualified to carry out missions alone. They were generally responsible for patrolling the town and providing security during major events and missions.
Since becoming "guards," this was their first time taking part in such a dangerous mission, one that required them to leave town as a group.
Along with their tension, it was inevitable they felt some excitement and apprehension.
Such a large mobilization naturally couldn't escape the notice of the townsfolk nearby. Some had gathered out of curiosity and to offer their blessings, and now stood along both sides of the road.
Deacon Habert stood at the head of the formation. The scar on his face looked especially prominent as his hawk-like gaze swept over the crowd, making a final head count and checking that everything was in order.
The fake Archbishop was still clad in the red robe that symbolized his authority. He stood atop the steps at the church entrance, holding