Warhamer40k & MonsterGirlQuest: A Double Traitor

POV Grand Master

Before dawn, the Grand Master began his breakfast. He took his place in his office, silently muttering a short prayer with dry lips, and leisurely pushed his clay plate closer.

The thin porridge sent up steam that mixed with the soot from thick candles, dissolving into the air. The pre-dawn chill seeped through the shutters, creeping along the floor, sneaking under his collar, and playfully grabbing at the candles. In response, the flames flared angrily and swayed threateningly from side to side.

The chill burned, retreated, and then returned, only to start all over again.

Eduard reached for the water in the wooden cup. He took several sips and winced. Sweetened again. And it tasted too fresh, with mint. Damn it. How many times must he tell them? The Grand Master tapped his fingers twice. The door opened immediately, and a young page in livery entered.

"Pour it out," the Master snapped. "Bring well water."

The page bowed low, took the drink, and disappeared behind the door.

'They care for me, look after me,' Eduard thought while waiting for the page to obey. 'Old Master. Doesn't spare himself. And us – we spare him. Make an exception. Sweeten his water, so he thinks better. A little butter in the porridge, just a drop. Lay down a mat before the altar, to ease the knees. Make a little exception, a tiny one, he won't notice. They love him, they try. Oh, people, people… You're ruining your soul, my caring ones! Not your soul – mine, you're ruining mine with love, like monsters, unclean ones. Today a little exception, tomorrow another, and the day after what? Sin? And I'm hanging on by the last of my strength…'

Eduard looked around the room. The Master held a deep disdain for comfort and excess. He had arranged his office in a simple, unpretentious manner, with no trace of wealth. Across the room stood a long oak table, darkened with age and soaked ink, and beside it, three unupholstered chairs with high backs.

In the left corner of the office, opposite the window, was a small altar, with a tiny mat placed in front of it. Every evening, Eduard would roll it up and set it aside. And every morning – there it was, in its old place, unfolded and cleaned. He'd ordered it thrown away, given instructions, but still, it was brought back.

They pity him. Old Master, old. Doesn't even moan much, grinds his teeth, doesn't even hear himself. But they hear. And they bring it back. People, people…

Eduard often knelt for his daily prayers, creaking with old joints, grimacing from the pain. Sometimes, when the suffering became unbearable, he would lean against the cold stone wall, made of large, polished blocks.

The room was always cool, and in winter, the fireplace couldn't stave off the cold. And the wind, always the wind. A draft often broke through the closed shutters and lifted the edge of the heavy curtain hanging to the right of his desk.

Then the Grand Master would set aside his work and listen, but usually, he returned to his tasks right away. The hidden passage behind the fabric was rarely used. Only for urgent matters.

The door opened silently. The page entered with a jug and placed it on the table.

"Stand," Eduard took a sip of the water. It was cold, well water, sharp on the teeth. Just right. "Go," the Master waved his hand, and the page silently exited.

Eduard scooped up some porridge and chewed slowly. For breakfast, the Master used a simple iron spoon, a relic from the days when he, a simple knight, had fought monsters personally. Even then, he had earned the respect of soldiers and priests, living a righteous life strictly according to the teachings of the Goddess.

Eduard shared in all the hardships of campaign life – eating from the same pot, sleeping by the same fire, standing guard himself. While other nobles slept soundly in rich tents, Eduard had soaked under autumn rains and frozen from the sharp winter winds. While other nobles traveled under tents, changing horses like gloves, Eduard slogged through the spring mud, giving his battle horse a break.

Always with the soldiers, always together – in the camp, on watch, in battle. The knight was the first to charge. The last to retreat, covering the withdrawal. Hundreds of souls saved from curses and death.

And although the future Grand Master did not possess the divine strength of heroes, nor could he make stirring speeches, nor did he strive to earn favor with the command, he had other qualities: honesty, firm faith, and courage.

The representatives of ancient families, who boasted of lands, wealth, and long family trees, laughed at Eduard. They laughed with venom, mockery, and spite… and helplessness. Their outer brilliance – the shine of clothes, fine armor, and pedigreed horses – paled before the inner brilliance of the simple knight, like polished copper, shining brightly in the sun, fading before the gleam of noble gold.

The noblemen felt this. And not only them. Soldiers and lower clergy adored Eduard. He was a living example, the man they dreamed of becoming, whether fighting or praying to the Goddess. Even now, as the Grand Master left the Order's residence and walked alone to the church on the outskirts of the city, grey veterans shouted after him:

"Master! When do we go to battle?! We haven't forgotten how to wield a sword! We can still serve the Goddess! Lead us!"

Eduard raised his hand: no need, I'm no better than you, I'm just a man, like all of you – soldiers, brothers. No need. He raised his hand, just like thirty years ago, after the victory at Dortass. And Dortass returned, revived, blooming with memories of the past.