Chapter 1709 – Judgement

Of all the organisations separate from the free cities, kingdoms, empires, trade federations and territorial associations in the Dungeon, the most well-known and impactful is the Abyssal Legion.

Almost as ubiquitous is the Church of the Path. Its origins are lost to time, though the Church itself claims to have arisen during the Rending. To some, it seems absurd that a faith based around the Dungeon as a proving ground and test of spirit could arise while that same Dungeon was tearing the world apart, but to others, it makes perfect sense.

Why not seek out meaning in the destruction? Better to think that the death and suffering were for a purpose rather than random and pointless.

Although not tied to any other authority, the Church of the Path makes its headquarters within the Grand Cathedral in the Golden City. Preaching that the Dungeon exists to serve and uplift the old races of Pangera, it has spread to almost every quarter of the world.

– Excerpt from ‘Societies and Organisations of the Dungeon’ by Allus

“We are here to execute the will of the Church.”

Silent and unmoving, rank upon rank of soldiers, dressed in armour gleaming with pure silver and draped in robes of white listened intently, their discipline never wavering.

“Do not waver in your faith, do not stray from your purpose. If there are doubts in your heart, crush them without mercy. Even the slightest crack in our armour will render it ineffective. Dismissed.”

Feet stomped on the deck as, rank by rank, the Judgement Battalion began to file down the gangway and onto the dock. The people of Green Mountain showed proper deference as they gave way, allowing the flawless lines of soldiers to enter the city. From the deck of the ship, War Bishop Pearson watched as the men and women who served under his leadership marched, heads high and souls afire, eager to serve the commands of the Church.

Eyes hard, he waited until the last rank had disembarked before doing so himself. Trusting that the auxiliaries would see to the care of their weapons and shields, he followed the last of his troops, eyes and ears open to the happenings on the mountain.

It had been years since Pearson had been home, but not much had changed since his last visit. A martial people, living in the shadow of one of the largest monsters the Dungeon had ever seen, locals were expected to live and act a certain way in regards to the Dungeon. It was the ever-present enemy, a shadow that lay over the brightest of days.

Of course, they welcomed the arrival of the Soldiers of the Path. Cheers rained down on the Battalion, along with flowers hurriedly cut from gardens, while others laid down their cloaks in the soldiers’ path. Though, along with the celebrations, Pearson detected an air of tension and anxiety, like a worm burrowing within an apple. Of course, that was to be expected to some extent; a Judgement Battalion wasn’t dispatched for nothing, there had to be a target, which meant danger was nearby.

Yet he was certain it went deeper than that. Something was going wrong here.

After seeing that the troops were billeted comfortably and the captains were assured of their duties, War Bishop Pearson strode away, heading to his first appointment.

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High on the Mountain, almost to the highest inhabited levels, he found a residence carved from gleaming white stone. Dripping with luxuries and sparkling in the mana-enhanced light of the fourth, it was fit for a king, or a noble lord at the very least. Cringing attendants took his name at the entrance before checking he was allowed entrance. When he was granted permission, they apologetically asked if he could remove his armoured boots before stepping inside.

Pearson ignored them.

Shouldering past those who timidly tried to step in his way, the War Bishop marched within, not caring if he stepped a little harder onto the dappled marble floor than was strictly necessary. On the wide balcony, and under an arch of perfectly formed stone that extended a dozen metres away from the edge of the manor, he found who he was here to see.

“Grand Priest Alir Vinting,” he said.

The man in question rose from his couch, placed his hand on his heart, and bowed in welcome.

War Bishop Graham Pearson was disgusted.