The Twice-blessed Paladin

The morning sun casts long shadows over Gildan's Reach as a small convoy of armored officials rides out of the city gates, heading toward the ruined chapel.

Among them are:

Captain Roderic Vale – a hardened veteran of the city guard, clad in steel plate and bearing the insignia of the Lord-Governor's authority.

Magister Arthen Holst – a city-appointed investigator and scholar, tasked with uncovering the truth behind arcane and criminal matters.

Two clerics from the Celestial Church – sent to determine if any heretical forces were involved.

And at the head of the group, riding silently on his black warhorse, is Aldric.

He does not speak as they ride.

He does not need to.

The truth will reveal itself soon enough.

By midday, they arrive at the abandoned chapel.

The site is eerily silent. The air is thick with something unnatural.

Aldric dismounts first, stepping toward the ruined entrance.

Captain Vale gestures to his men. "Stay sharp."

Magister Holst adjusts his robes, frowning. "This place is… tainted."

One of the clerics murmurs a quiet prayer, gripping his holy symbol.

Then, they step inside.

The first chamber is exactly as Aldric left it.

The shattered pews.

The desecrated altar.

The bodies of the initiates, their twisted forms still in unnatural death.

The officials pause, taking in the sight.

The younger of the two clerics turns pale. "By the gods…"

Captain Vale kneels beside a corpse, prodding it with his gauntleted hand.

"This… isn't natural." His voice is grim.

Magister Holst examines the bodies closely. His fingers trace the blackened ichor, and his eyes narrow.

"This is no mere heresy. This is something older… something worse."

Then Aldric steps forward and moves the altar.

The hidden passageway yawns open.

The torches flicker.

The air grows colder.

No one speaks.

Then Vale draws his sword.

"Magister. Clerics. With me."

And they descend into the darkness.

When they return to Gildan's Reach, the Lord-Governor himself is waiting.

The report has already spread through the city.

What was once whispers and rumors has become unavoidable truth.

Inside the Lord-Governor's chamber, a council has been assembled.

Seated at the grand oak table are:

Lord-Governor Edran Castor – the highest authority in Gildan's Reach, a man of wealth and political cunning.

Three high-ranking nobles – all powerful landowners and merchants, their interests tied deeply to the city's future.

Guildmaster Veylan Marthos – representing the Adventurer's Guild's stake in the matter.

Aldric – seated apart from the others, clad in freshly polished armor, his greatsword resting against his chair.

The Lord-Governor's expression is tight with worry.

"You are certain?" he asks, his voice low.

Magister Holst nods grimly. "Without a doubt. The cult was real. We saw the bodies. The symbols. The taint in that place."

One of the nobles, a plump man in fine robes, scoffs. "This is ridiculous. Some ruined temple and a few madmen does not mean the city is under threat."

Aldric slowly turns his gaze toward the noble.

"They were not madmen," he says. His voice is calm but cold. "They were worshippers of something beyond mortal comprehension."

Magister Holst nods in agreement. "Sir Aldric speaks the truth. These… creatures were no mere cultists. Their bodies had already begun to change into something inhuman."

The noble's face reddens, but he says nothing.

Veylan Marthos leans forward. "So the real question is—how deep does this go?"

Silence.

Then the Lord-Governor exhales.

"If a cult existed beneath our city, then that means someone—many someones—knew about it."

His gaze sweeps the room.

"There may be more of them within our walls."

The weeks that follow shake Gildan's Reach to its core.

City officials launch investigations. The guard conducts raids.

And soon, the first signs of treachery emerge.

A minor noble is found dead in his estate, a ritual dagger still in his hand. A servant confesses that he was seen meeting with cloaked figures.

A merchant house is exposed for smuggling strange artifacts—objects covered in the same twisted runes Aldric saw in the cult's lair.

A city magistrate disappears overnight, his office ransacked, his guards killed in their sleep.

The cult is not dead.

It is everywhere.

And the city is only just realizing it.

As panic spreads, the noble houses grow restless.

At a gathering of the city's elite, tempers boil over.

"This hysteria must end!" one noble shouts. "We cannot live in fear over some phantom cult!"

Lord-Governor Castor slams a fist on the table. "Then explain why we are finding their symbols in your estates."

Silence.

Aldric, seated in the shadows, watches.

And then, a noblewoman—a tall, regal woman named Lady Verris—laughs softly.

"Such accusations," she murmurs. "Lord-Governor, do you mean to imply that we have been… harboring such filth?"

The air in the room shifts.

Aldric's eyes narrow.

Lady Verris smiles, but her gaze lingers too long on Aldric.

"You know something."

The Lord-Governor leans forward. "No. I am not implying it."

He gestures to a guard standing near the entrance.

"I am stating it."

The doors burst open.

Two more guards drag a nobleman into the room, his robes stained with blood.

The assembly erupts into gasps.

The nobleman is shaking violently, his face pale with terror.

But not at the guards.

At Aldric.

"You," the man breathes. "You—you ruined everything!"

The room erupts into chaos.

Aldric stands, his hand resting on his sword.

The cult is not gone.

It is woven into the very fabric of the city.

And now, its followers know his name.

As the nobleman is dragged away, Lady Verris rises from her seat.

She gives Aldric one last look.

Then she turns and leaves.

No words.

But a promise in her eyes.

Aldric watches her go.

"You can run."

"You can hide."

"But I will find you."

And far beyond the mortal world, in a realm of whispers and shadows, the Unseen Father chuckles.

"You are only just beginning to understand, Twice-Blessed."