The cruiser’s chapel was located in a secluded nook on the second level, usually enclosed by soundproof screens to provide the faithful with the silence necessary for meditation and confession. During combat missions, these screens were removed, and Ruda stepped inside, hearing the measured hum of the engine.

  A narrow passage led from the doors to a consecrated circle of light. Alcoves on either side held stone slabs carved with the teachings of the Planet, the Sky, the Champion, and other faiths practiced in the Land of the Oath. Lamps mounted behind stained-glass windows at the top of the chapel cast a lilac-green hue over the common prayer hall. Now the benches and the enclosed confession booth stood empty, and the air was filled with the pleasant aroma of flowers and incense. Eight corridors radiated from the central chamber, leading to individual prayer areas.

  The room’s circular ceiling was adorned with a mosaic depicting the founding of the Order. The first magister, clad in black and purple, humbly accepted the sword-staff from the giant in gray as a reward for felling a barbarian champion.

  “You’re not often seen here, Sister,” Delacroix said, stopping to light the censers.

  Dressed in a plain white robe, the chaplain approached, jingling with each step and limping on his left leg. Wrinkles marred his taut gray skin; age had dulled the Troll’s natural regeneration, and the sparse ghosts of scars were visible beneath his deep-set left eye. Delacroix’s bones had lost their former strength, and the holy father wore an exoskeleton to ease the burden of his daily duties. A hand cannon awaited its moment in the holster on his belt, encircling his chlamys, but after eighty years of service, the veteran’s stiff joints no longer possessed the dexterity to wield his trusty mace.

  Delacroix refused to resign, devoting himself to the spiritual needs of his brethren. After completing his studies at the seminary, he became a preacher of the Shared Faith, serving the various aspects of God equally.

  “I prefer to prove my faith through actions, Father.” Ruda knelt, accepting the blessing. All the physical changes in her body had already disappeared. The extra vertebrae had merged with the main ones, and the new muscles had dissolved along with the scales. “Soon you will have many parishioners. But today, I need to speak out. May I address the Planet?”

  “The Planet is always listening, wherever you are, child.” Not a trace of emotion crept into the chaplain’s words. “To what aspect does your soul draw you?”

  “To the classic.”

  Ruda walked toward a corridor ending in a statue depicting the world’s sphere, mounted on a pedestal of pure gold. Flowing streams and pools of water beneath the glass surface represented rivers, seas, and oceans, while fog swirling around the sphere created a simulated atmosphere. The catastrophe had changed the original landscape of the Old World beyond recognition, displacing many continents. Until the altered world was fully explored, this image became a generally accepted symbol of faith in the will of the cradle of humanity, which had given its offspring another chance.

  Planet, deliver me from the temptation to cruelty. Grant me wisdom in dispensing justice and calm the storm within me. Ruda made a circular gesture with her hand, pausing over her heart before bowing. Again and again, her thoughts returned to the events of the previous days, recalling her willingness to punish Rustam merely out of suspicion. He had shamed her by willingly volunteering to save others.

  Her own decisions seemed selfish, causing more harm than good. Cowardice, recklessness, rage, and prejudice. Had she done anything right?

  “There is a storm of turmoil within you,” Delacroix said.

  “Is it that obvious?” Ruda turned to him.

  “It is my duty to know my flock,” Delacroix replied. “Tell me about your doubts.”

  “On our last mission, I arrogantly rushed to rescue people doomed to die in the arena. Draz, the governor of Rabor, was eager to use them for the amusement of his own minions. This reminded me of the past, and we clashed. He was too strong for me; I couldn’t even dream of killing him. But the help of my friend and the captives brought me victory. Thus, I attracted his attention,” Ruda admitted. “As a result, our young charge was kidnapped, and Draz’s soldiers hounded us. My fighting brother died saving us. Yeshua lost a chunk of his body and is in critical condition. Civilians and those who sided with us suffered.”

  “Your mission was to rescue kidnapped citizens,” the chaplain said. “You brought back more people than you would have lost by abandoning the defenseless in peril.”

  “My mind knows it!” Ruda raised her voice. “The disgusting, hypocritical piece of me calculated the number and value of the dead and liberated, coldly declaring a positive outcome.” She spat out the words. “I hate it. You can’t put a price on life.”

  “Hm...” Delacroix stood motionless. “Knowing the outcome, would you have acted differently?”

  “Of course! I would have used the knowledge I gained to plan a better escape route...” Ruda dropped her wit, bowing her head humbly. “But I understand the meaning of your question. No.”

  “Would Yeshua or the fallen brother have sacrificed civilians to save themselves?” the chaplain inquired.

  “Never.”

  “Then you are free from blame, Sister. You acted as your conscience dictated, doing everything possible to fulfill our duty,” Delacroix declared. “The regrets you experience are natural. Morality distinguishes us from ruthless maniacs willing to carry out any monstrous order. When we kill, it’s always for the betterment of the world. The magister acted wisely in promoting you after doubts emerged inside you, marking the finding of your own path. Do not be ashamed of having to rely on your kin to overcome difficulties. We are one, and the glory of one is the glory of all. As is sadness.”

  “Would it be wonderful if everything were that simple, Father.” Ruda exhaled, clasping her trembling hands. “I didn’t do my best. I didn’t give it my all. Cowardice and hatred still bind me, and others have paid for it.”

  “Your past.” Delacroix unerringly guessed where she was leading.

  “Yes. The tyrants who violated my former home usually took tribute in materials, not disdaining simple food. There was little point in ravaging the settlements that fed you.” Ruda’s gaze clouded as she revisited those dark days. “We had no hope. Iterna shook its finger at them with one hand, teaching us morals, while turning a blind eye with the other, permitting the atrocities to continue in the name of avoiding colonial methods. One day, the bandits demanded a tribute of flesh. My father offered himself and was met with laughter. They wanted children, young and healthy.”

  “At first, our settlement refused. Then they demonstrated our weakness by breaking Dad’s legs and the other brave souls. Then they hung them by their broken limbs,” Ruda spoke calmly, suppressing sharp sighs.

  “Scum,” Delacroix said.

  “You punished them. I remember your limping gait among those who saved us.”

  “Most of us will age. I should have stopped being stubborn earlier. Continue your story, Sister,” the chaplain requested.

  “The bandits found a piece of the Glow. They dragged us into the fortress, inflicting upon us things designed to break our will. Then they herded us toward this piece. Father, this substance seemed alive. It stood in the shape of a small tower, pulsating with an endless variety of colors in the center of a pool. The icy water reached our ankles.”

  Ruda paused, recalling the screams. Those who approached did not vanish instantly. They were engulfed in light, causing purulent blisters on their skin and distending their internal organs so much that they crushed bones in their path. Then, at the height of their agony, merciful oblivion came, and the blurred masses merged with the splashing water, turning it reddish-brown. The mere reminder of the smell brought the urge to vomit.

  “The first of us died by accident. Then the bastards used long poles, shoving the rest toward this epicenter of unnatural radiation. We died, begging for salvation. When my turn came… I was lucky.” Ruda bit her lip. “The Glow can bestow power. That’s why we were brought there. Our captors were eager to possess slaves with power. This alien thing brought me change. I heard the bastards hooting, rejoicing at such a quick success. Their leader ordered the next batch to be brought in when the Glow disappeared. I don’t know how it happened; I saw a black oval and green eyes full of disgust... I must have been delirious. The Order attacked amidst the confusion.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “We should have been faster,” Delacroix said.

  “You wouldn’t be there if Mom hadn’t decided to steal the transmitter and call for help,” Ruda interrupted. “By belittling yourself, you belittle her. I won’t stand for that. You did the right thing by putting an end to the horror. You know the rest. I was saved, the police tested my power, and I lost consciousness. Weakling. Deprived of revenge, frightened, and shielded from the beast by internal barriers. Every time I transformed, I remembered the price I paid for this ability. Fear, shattered hopes, pain, and the death of my friends. I refused to accept it until I finally saved myself and Yeshua using this evil.”

  “So that’s it.” The Troll gestured, and they walked toward the animist veneration corridor.

  Damp earth covered the created hollow. A wooden path of individual planks bound with rope led to a simple bone altar, surrounded by a green carpet of grass, among which grew wild roses, white flowers, and small trees. The murmur of water cascading down a small mound of stones from a hole in the wall added to this tranquil scene, illuminated by special lamps that provided natural light for the plants. Artificial wind currents played with the crude amulets hanging from the altar. Delacroix maintained the wilderness here, replanting overgrown trees upon their return home.

  “Chosen Prince brought about the destruction of this religion, corrupting the rich forests of the northwest. His influence reduced countless temples to ruin, sent infected animals south, turning nature into a tool for spreading diseases. However, after his fall, animism became popular in the Land of the Oath. Would you call that evil?” asked the chaplain.

  “Your comparison doesn’t apply to my situation.” Ruda shook her head.

  “You think so? Sister, Chosen Prince’s plague didn’t just affect the animal kingdom. He enslaved the people who were healed after his death. Many of them possess the abilities he bestowed upon them.” Delacroix stood before her, meeting her gaze. “Such people have turned them to good use. Lost souls, they feel obligated to atone. We sometimes shoulder the most curious burdens, believing our judgment wiser than God’s. None of the dead children blame you for using your power. Your captors wanted to reforge you into a blade for evil. For a long time, you remained red-hot metal, unable to find a form. But now it is hardening, becoming a shield.”

  “I prefer offensive,” Ruda protested.

  “A shield can be used for attack. A hard blow to the throat with the shield’s edge would break the trachea.”

  Unwillingly, Ruda laughed, filling the chapel with a ringing mirth. It was as if a heavy helmet had been lifted from her shoulders, pressing on her head and obscuring her vision. Indeed, if life after death existed, then the cruelly murdered children were long gone, utterly forgotten. As cruel as it sounded, the way the power had been imposed on her was irrelevant. It had been done against her will.

  But only she would decide for what purpose this ability would be used.

  “You’ve found your answer,” the chaplain remarked.

  “Sure hope so.” Ruda wiped away a tear of joy, not even flinching at the sensation of the scales. “May I ask you personal questions?”

  “Don’t be shy.”

  “Is it difficult? Serving as a spiritual mentor to non-Trolls?” Ruda inquired.

  “Very,” Delacroix confirmed. “You make a lot of unnecessary grimaces.”

  Chuckling, Ruda bowed to the chaplain and headed for the exit.

  “Sister? Questions imply a number greater than one.”

  “The answer to the second one came to me on its own, Father.”

  “Ask it anyway,” Delacroix urged.

  “I wanted to know if things had gotten better.” Ruda faced him. “Compared to the past. Then I realized that years ago, the Oathtakers wouldn’t have had the resources for an expedition beyond the borders. People like me weren’t accepted into the Orders before. The Reclamation Army and we were at each other’s throats instead of providing refugee camps. Even Iterna opened a free clinic in Stonehelm to help with the crisis. So yeah. Things are getting better.”

  The chaplain nodded, blessing the crusader. She walked toward the exit, enjoying the clatter of hooves. Opening the door, she saw Ney leaning against the corner, waiting for her, one leg raised. An elastic knee brace wrapped around his injured leg, and bandages hid the cuts on his face, but the young nobleman had already shaved, washed, and dressed in a red jumpsuit with a bull’s head embroidered on the chest. His friendly face didn’t twitch as he stood on both feet.

  “Must I carry you to bed?” Ruda asked bluntly.

  “Let’s put off intimacy until we get back. People might not understand.”

  “Thank you,” Ruda said, drawing a surprised look from Ney. “For keeping me from doing anything stupid and saving my life.”

  “Did something happen?” he asked cautiously.

  Ruda forced him to lean on her shoulder to ease the strain on his cracked bone, and together they leisurely made their way to the armory. Along the way, she told him the purpose of her visit to the chapel, holding nothing back this time. Ney listened without judgment. She had much to make amends for and to become a better person. Her comrades had restrained her from the worst in the past, but that didn’t mean she could continue to allow bloodthirstiness to cloud the values ??instilled in her by the Oathtakers and Iterna.

  “I’ve been tormented by this question for a long time.” They entered the elevator. “Why me? Why did my parents give me away and not my siblings? Asking it felt like a betrayal, and I was afraid the little ones would hear it. That nonsense no longer bothers me. The past is gone. My family loves me, I have true friends, and...” She knelt. “Will you marry me?”

  “That’s usually a question men ask,” Ney joked.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to make things right later.”

  “Then my answer is yes.” Ney took Ruda’s hand. “Ahead of us lies a tedious and pompous formality, without which my dear parents would have a stroke, but I’d be glad to be a part of your life and welcome you into mine. And now, a surprise.” Noticing her surprised expression, he shook his finger. “Nope. Zero hints.”

  A Troll in full formal uniform awaited them inside the armory, filled with the sounds of assembly. Grease-smeared, flushed, and sweaty mechanics worked in shifts, keeping the machines running while they disassembled captured armor pieces, restoring them to operating condition. The shelves groaned with spare parts for the knights’ power armor, and finished infantry equipment moved along assembly lines. Newly hired assistants hastily secured combat-tested firearms.

  The magister ordered the cruiser’s personnel to be on high alert, leaving no combat unit out of service for long.

  The operator asked Ruda a few questions, bringing her up to speed. Upon becoming a knight, a crusader was entitled to a land grant and official heraldry, forever immortalized in the annals of the Order. Ruda stuck to her tastes, choosing a cheerful seahorse as her emblem. Then came the choice of color. The mixture of blue and red screamed vanity, causing many knights to wonder why Ney had chosen this hue, but Ruda suspected he had done so intentionally, as a joke. The commander’s dark green signified thoroughness in his work. Before her visit to the chapel, she had planned to choose beige, symbolizing repentance.

  Now she settled on black, symbolizing aspiration. She would devote all her efforts to becoming an excellent knight. In her spare time, Ruda would assist the younger generation in training and pass on her skills to new members of the order, thus carving out her niche in their brotherhood.

  After completing the paperwork and confirming her vows, Ruda was distracted by the sound of unwinding chains. Curved mechanical claws descended from the ceiling, holding a unique suit of armor in their grasp. The faceplate lacked a visor opening, and the sleeves and shoulders were too small and clung tightly to the limbs. A pair of mechanics quickly removed everything below the knees, attaching the leg sections from Ruda’s previous armor to the suit.

  “We will modify these parts later,” Ney said, sitting on a chair. “Before you is the shell that belonged to the venerable Butcher, who served the Onyx Order for sixty-five years until acute arthritis led to his premature passing. Don’t be surprised; you’re not the only one whose power works through transformation. The armorers hated losing excellent armor, so the engineers designed a new series. Put on the helmet.”

  Ruda complied, lowering the metal, which felt much heavier than it appeared from the outside, onto her face. Even with the power off, the inner part of the visor, enveloping her eyes, offered a clear view of the armory.

  “This model is made of liquid metal. We’re not Iterna; don’t expect nanomachines for automatic repair in combat. But the armor adapts to changes in the body. You’ve already noticed how much denser the helmet is. The communications, optical observation devices, and motors seamlessly shift positions, ensuring the shell’s operation even with a radical change in user. Butcher could transform into a lizard that walked on all fours,” Ney explained. “That’s why El Satanini requisitioned his suit after taking you under his command.”

  “The commander never doubted me...” Ruda whispered.

  “Should he?” Ney teased. “There are vials of fluid inside the sleeves. It’s up to you to remove them. Water isn’t enough for a full transformation, but you’ll grow stronger, in addition to being able to use hydro-sonar,” he chuckled. “Yours doesn’t rely on sound waves. Instead, it locates the fluid itself.”

  “Not only that,” Ruda admitted. “I can control bodily fluids. Get us some beer.”

  “Want a drink?”

  “No. Train. I’m afraid of fully transforming yet. Last time, I had some strange thoughts, but I can handle a partial activation. Let’s stress test the venerable elder!”

  Ruda extended her arm, and the armorer pulled the sleeve over it, attaching a pauldron. Instead of directly connecting the generator, the man inserted a wire into the helmet. A pale green light illuminated Ruda’s face, and with slight apprehension, she gave the command to release the water, feeling her skin become damp.

  It would’ve been wise to take off the jumpsuit beforehand. Her arm swelled with strength, doubling in size, tearing her clothing. The armor sleeve expanded freely, adapting to the limb. The armorer asked the crusader to step toward the wall. He took aim, firing a small-caliber pistol. The bullet ricocheted off the colorless surface without notching it. The gunsmith tested a shotgun and an armor-piercing machine gun, reporting with prideful satisfaction that the pearl of the past was as durable as modern mass-production models.

  Meanwhile, Ney had procured a sealed can of beer and opened it. As he raised the drink to his lips, Ruda mentally reached for the foamy liquid, feeling the beer splash against the sides. She formed a narrow stream, creating a semblance of a compressed spring, and released the result into Ney’s face.

  Amused by the splash on her future husband’s face, she completely failed to notice how he smoothly snatched a glass of tea from the operator’s desk, splashing it all over her foot.

  “Damn it!” Ruda suddenly grew taller, one foot missing the ground by a meter, and the other turned into a blue column. Unable to maintain her balance, she collapsed to the floor, becoming the subject of general laughter among the tired staff.

  “How about you lean on me? Maybe I can get you a crutch, my dear?” Ney cooed.

  I won’t let this slide. Streams of liquid flowed from cups, open thermoses, and flasks, gathering into a single river, gliding toward the seated crusader, and rising in a wave behind him.