Unclean Faith

February 3, Year 1 of the New Calendar

Ashen City

Inside the Sunfire Temple, Pontiff Isara paced back and forth in agitation.

On the raised platform, the statue of the Sunfire God shone as it always had, gathering the countless glowing motes of Essence released by the prayers of the faithful.

Yet among those many motes, a tiny black speck had appeared today.

Black amid white, it stood out so starkly that the praying worshippers had noticed it at once.

The faithful were terrified. To them, this could mean only one thing-their faith in the Sunfire God had been contaminated.

Someone of another race had prayed to the Sunfire God without following the proper rites. Such a thing was absolutely forbidden.

This deviation had upset the balance Isara had worked so hard to maintain.

The longer she looked, the more that patch of black seemed to mock her, and her brow furrowed deeper.

She had always guided the faithful with painstaking care to preserve the purity of their faith, yet this had happened anyway.

The entire Temple had been sealed off immediately. Until the matter was resolved, no one could leave.

Outside the door, the faithful whispered among themselves. Inside stood fully armed soldiers of the City Guard and Pontiff Isara, who wielded the greatest magical power.

The attendants and worshippers around her felt the oppressive atmosphere. They scarcely dared to breathe, remaining silently where they stood.

Once the battle report from the Expedition Army arrived, bloodshed here seemed inevitable.

"Has the heretic arrived?"

Isara spoke as though asking a casual question.

An attendant who had been waiting nearby for orders steadied himself and replied, "Your Holiness, a squad from the Expedition Army has captured the heretic, but it will take some time to bring him here."

"Send the City Guard to meet them. I must personally pass judgment on that bug spreading unclean faith as soon as possible!"

"Yes!"

With that reply, the attendant hurried away.

The door slammed shut, leaving her alone in the room.

Isara took a deep breath and let herself slump into a chair. Her fiery red gown spread across the floor, its intricate patterns momentarily resembling flowers in bloom.

She believed she had done everything she could to address this sudden turn of events.

"Am I being too sensitive? Perhaps this isn't really so terrible?"

That patch of black could never have been Essence produced by the bugs of Ashen City.

She should have known from the start. It was the faith of another race.

But what was she to call it? Fear?

Without the Sunfire God, the Ashen Clan would surely have perished long ago amid the windblown sands of the wilderness. Such a debt of gratitude could never be forgotten.

Yet perhaps she had merely been a makeshift choice because there had been no other option. If other bugs proved more useful, would her Lord abandon her?

Isara's unease and agitation stemmed from fear-the fear of being abandoned.

By a remarkable coincidence, the clan chief and the scout shared the same concern.

Slumped in her chair, Isara glanced at the statue on the raised platform.

The statue, predominantly orange and red, constantly radiated light and warmth like a blazing torch.

It had been newly built and was more refined than the first. Both its figure and the mask on its head matched exactly what they had originally seen.

Any bug who gazed upon that statue could feel a sense of reassurance and peace.

Isara thought to herself, I'm the Pontiff. Isn't it a good thing for more bugs to believe in the Sunfire God?

"No."

After only a moment's consideration, Isara answered her own question.

Perhaps that was true, but who could guarantee that the faith of those other races would be as pure and flawless as her Lord demanded?

"Faith that is not absolute is absolute faithlessness."

Isara murmured, "I will never readily trust those untested outsiders. That would be an insult to my Lord."

Isara rose, left the room, and climbed the steps to the highest point in the Temple, just below the statue.

She began the day's sermon.

"Go forth and praise His name. Walk in His way."

"He is light. He is searing heat. He is flame itself."

"Worship Him, for He is the beginning of all civilization and wisdom, and He is their end."

"The pioneer who defied the darkness, He led us out of the primitive days of raw flesh and blood and into the age of flame."

"We despaired. We suffered. We cried out. And then He appeared."

"And so the wanderers wandered no more. They had a home, they had hope, and they had a new name."

"Ash arose from fire, and thus the Ashen Clan was born."

At this point, Isara closed her eyes. Two streams of hot tears ran down her face as she became wholly immersed in her revelations.

As Isara preached, the trembling bugs in the hall gradually calmed.

The faithful once again felt that familiar sense of security. They too closed their eyes and prayed in silence.

The glowing motes gathered again. Though the black speck would not disappear, the rich Essence still flowed toward the statue, covering it little by little.

Clang!

Clang!

At this inopportune moment, the doors were flung open. Amid the clatter of chains against the floor, the party escorting the prisoner finally arrived.

Some were curious; others were indignant.

Isara, the faithful, the attendants-everyone present turned their eyes toward the doorway, eager to see just what sort of audacious creature had caused that black stain.

The Snail Shaman looked utterly bedraggled. His limbs were bound in iron chains, all his spellcasting materials had been stripped away, and even his snail shell was gone. He looked for all the world like a black lump wrapped in chains.

Yet his expression was one of sheer delight. He paid no attention whatsoever to his injuries.

All along the journey, the unfamiliar sights had filled him with excitement. After entering the Temple and looking up at the statue on the raised platform, he began to chuckle with even greater pleasure.

He keenly spotted the stain he had caused-that tiny patch of black-and was clearly very pleased with it.

In front of and behind the Snail Shaman, two special soldiers on each side guarded him.

They wore matching smooth golden helmets with layered armor and mantles, their edges outlined in orange-red flame patterns. The mantles faded from ivory to fiery red.

Flames burned across their bodies and even the weapons in their hands.

Though they merely stood there in silence, countless worshippers and attendants cast looks of admiration and respect their way.

They were the thirty-three warriors, apart from the clan chief, who had survived the first trial bestowed by the Sunfire God-the original Battle of the Long Gallery.

Collectively known as the "Walkers," they were the finest warriors of the Ashen Clan.

During the Expedition, they had once again received the Sunfire God's blessing, mastering a technique called Soulfire and growing even stronger. The strongest among them could even live in symbiosis with flame, turning it into their own power.

Though new blood continued to join their ranks, this tradition remained.

Only the thirty-three strongest warriors among the "Walkers" were entitled to wear that red heavy armor, which seemed to burn with flame.

The journey had not been entirely without incident. Even after the Expedition, remnants of hostile forces remained that had not been completely wiped out.

Yet these four "Walkers" alone had crushed every threat before it could take shape.

After confirming that the escort was complete, the four "Walkers" bowed slightly to the archbishop and departed.

Isara responded with a slight nod. Every one of those golden-armored warriors was a veteran of trials by fire and blood who had survived countless brushes with death. Whoever they were, they deserved respect.

As the "Walkers" departed, the doors closed once more, and everyone's gaze settled on the prisoner.

"Let the judgment begin, heretic."

Isara's gaze turned cold.