"I know, Brother Umberto." Paul pushed up his glasses and said helplessly, "But this is the only thing that soothes the thing inside me. He thrives on violence."
"Perhaps you're the one being soothed, because those stories show that suffering doesn't mean being distant from the Lord." Brother Umberto smiled kindly.
"Perhaps." Paul said.
Brother Umberto nodded and looked to the other side. A monk was watering the garden, but something had caught his attention, and he hadn't even noticed that water was still pouring from his watering can. "Brother Carl, are you all right? I think that plant has had enough water."
"Did something happen down below?" Paul asked.
"It's the fishermen from the mainland. I think they're hurting someone," Brother Carl replied.
"What?" Paul hurried down the monastery stairs.
"Paul really is—always eager to help others," Brother Carl remarked.
"But seeing him like this worries me," Brother Umberto said. "Ah—the Order of St. Dumas. They turned their backs on the Lord and treated a devout believer like that. Those people truly deserve to go to hell."
At the harbor at the foot of the mountain, a girl was struggling with a fisherman.
"Let go of me!" the girl snapped.
"Half when we arrive, you French bitch! That was our deal!" The fisherman yanked her arm and drew his other hand back, ready to slap her.
"What are you doing?" Paul caught the fisherman's hand.
"Stay out of this, monk. Unless you want to pay her fare?" the fisherman said irritably.
"You're trespassing on monastery land," Paul said. "You're free to fish in the surrounding waters, but let that girl go and leave."
"Or what, monk?" The fisherman stared into Paul's eyes and clenched his fists.
Paul hesitated for less than a second before the system inside him overrode