At first glance, they looked like fellow Cultists.
But as the three allies drew closer and emerged fully into the firelight at the edge of the square, the Cultists standing guard all froze.
In all their years on the Wasteland, they had seen fanatical believers, madmen who had lost their minds, and monsters utterly corrupted by the Abyss.
But...
They had never fucking seen Cultists swagger this arrogantly!
The fellow on the far left had rags wrapped around his head and wore a hood, but he walked like a mob boss coming to collect protection money in a gangster movie!
Every inch of him radiated an infuriating air of "everyone here is trash."
The one on the far right was even more absurd.
He hunched his back, his small, shifty eyes darting around behind his mask.
As he walked, he even groped at his baggy shorts in an utterly sleazy fashion, looking exactly like a chicken thief who had just stolen a hen from the village entrance.
But the man walking in the middle was the one who truly shattered the Cultists' worldview.
Though he, too, wore a filthy, tattered red robe, he walked as though he were strutting down the runway at Paris Fashion Week!
His back was ramrod straight, and the length of every stride seemed to have been precisely measured.
In short, the first impression these three gave was that they were putting on airs.
Really putting on airs!
So much so that one look made you want to march over and slap them hard across the face a couple of times!
"Wh... whose men are these three? Are they on patrol?"
A Cultist on the perimeter scratched his head and turned to his companion in utter bewilderment.
His companion looked equally dumbfounded.
"No idea. Since when