The deliberate shouting of the Lightservant echoed across the street. Silas froze, eyes fixed on the group ahead. The three Lightservants were a fresh set of faces, different from those he had encountered in the forest.
A crowd, drawn by the booming voices, began to block the road. Wagon owners didn't seem to mind; such spectacles were rare, and curiosity held sway over routine.
Three people knelt in the road, hands bound behind their backs. Their clothes were dirty and torn, with visible bruises on their arms and faces. Women shielded their children, whispering urgently.
"Citizens of Misfa," the Lightservant declared, "I present to you these three sinners who played with the Traitor's Power. Now, as loyal servants of the Three Gods, I shall punish them for their heresy."
The crowd cheered.
"Burn them!"
"To the stake!"
The Lightservant smirked at the three captives. Shouts and curses flew at the suspected wizards.
Silas felt a pang of pity. He knew too well what it was like to be hated by those he once knew. His chest tightened, the noise around him becoming a suffocating roar. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.
Someone bumped his shoulder, pulling him back from the abyss he was about to sink into. Silas blinked, focusing on the three wizards and their varied reactions to the crowd's hatred.
The man in the center stared at the ground, resigned. The woman beside him looked around in disbelief, tears streaming as she pleaded for forgiveness. It was heart-wrenching to see her beg for something beyond her control.
'Perhaps she didn't even know she was a wizard until the day she was caught,' he thought bitterly.
The skinny lad in his twenties with a shaved head was the last to catch his attention. He held no expression on his face, staring blankly at the crowd around him. As the Lightservants forced them to stand, his demeanor shifted from indifference to a frown, then to anger.
Tied to a stake, with dry hay scattered at his feet, his gaze found Silas. The boy shivered, feeling the weight of the man's recognition. Silas was certain he knew his real identity. But the lad's attention drifted away, disinterested, only to harden again as he faced the crowd.
Flames rose, and the other two wizards' pleas turned into animalistic screams.
Soon, the screams became so indistinguishable from the howls of a dying animal that it was impossible to tell them apart. But there was no need to know if the one who made the sound was human or not. Because the moment that they had been branded as a wizard was the moment that the masses ended their humanity for them.
Even the strong-willed wizard succumbed, his screams rising until his voice was consumed by the flames.
The fire burned long after the crowd dispersed.
'He had almost forgotten,' Silas thought.
There was no peace in Warriors of Destiny. Lightservants hunted them, for the first wizards had allied with the Traitor God. No one would accept a wizard; even family would shun them. Such was the fate of Tristan, a chief antagonist in the game.
Silas looked down, weaving his way out of the crowd. What he had just watched had made it clear how dire his situation was. If caught, he too might end up tied to a stake. He wondered what he would do if that day ever came.
----
Before returning to Ruma's store, Silas fortified himself with a heavy breakfast of sausage and eggs. But when he arrived at the market, the store was still closed.
The clothing store next door, however, was open. He went inside.
Silas immediately headed to the section where the cloaks were displayed.
"Are you perhaps interested in that cloak?" the owner asked, smiling at the thought of having his first customer.
"Yes," he said. The cloak had a simple design, a brown cloak made of thin material, but he knew this thing would be of use to him, especially if he traveled with a group of people. He checked his [Inventory] to see the amount of money he had.
[Shields: 2400]
"I'll buy it."
"That will be 1,500 Shields."
[You have acquired Brown Cloak x1]
When Silas left the clothing store, Ruma was already outside, waiting with a portly man in a red shirt over a brown vest and a straw hat.
"This is the one I mentioned, Sam," Ruma said. "He'll join your caravan for an errand he's running for me."
Sam eyed Silas skeptically. "He looks like a stick. Are you sure you're not desperate?"
Silas raised an eyebrow.
Ruma smiled. "Hard times require quick decisions. But I believe I made the right choice."
Sam grimaced. "As if I could refuse you. I'll take the greenhorn, but he's on his own. I'll feed him, but if he lags behind, he finds his own way. If we're attacked, he defends himself."
Ruma's eyes twitched, but his smile remained. "Let's hope nothing bad happens. I'll burn incense at the temple for your safe trip."
Their conversation continued briefly before Sam declared it was time to leave the village. The merchant insisted they cover half their journey before setting up camp for the night.
Silas followed Sam to his wagon, noting two equally large wagons behind it. The caravan, a mix of merchants, travelers, singers, and soldiers, moved out. He wondered how wealthy Sam was to afford such a large escort.
Misfa Village faded behind rolling hills, leaving the towering view of Mount Vruna. Silas planned to walk in the mornings and ride in the afternoons to rest.
That day, the road was silent. Tension hung in the air, and Silas couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He walked the entire day, chatting with other caravan members.
He liked the soldiers but took an instant dislike to the singer, perhaps out of jealousy for his talent and his pleasant voice, and for ignoring him. But Silas couldn't deny the singer's skill.
They pushed on until sundown before camping by the roadside. Silas helped build a fire while chatting with the merchants' wives.
"Aren't you too young to be doing this?" they asked.
He smiled and repeated the story he had told Ruma. "No one else wanted to travel outside the village for this errand. My father said I needed to learn."
The women seemed touched and promised to wait for his return before the caravan returned to Misfa. Silas wished the same, but he knew he couldn't go back to that place.
He slept by the fire but awoke suddenly to indistinct noises from the forest. Rising, he thought he saw a shadow watching them, but it was only a tree branch swaying.
He turned his back to the fire and stayed awake the rest of the night.
In the morning, he joined the soldiers, hoping walking would keep him alert. As he listened to their conversation, he realized he wasn't the only one who noticed the shadow. He kept his observations to himself, fearing it would do more harm than good.
The journey continued. They passed small farms and houses with grazing animals dotting the landscape.
Then, near the fifth house, they saw torn doors and sheep carcasses scattered inside a fence with visible blood on their necks. Silas jumped on the fence despite the shouts from the caravan.
He crouched by a sheep and inspected its neck, finding puncture wounds and spiderwebs clinging to its wool. Whatever attacked it must be a beast similar to a spider.
"What are you doing?" Sam demanded, pulling him by the arm.
Silas looked up. "We must hurry. They were attacked by spiders."
Sam knelt beside him. "What kind of spider kills sheep?"
"A spider as big as the sheep, maybe bigger."
Sam's expression turned serious. He stood and hurried back to the caravan, urging everyone to move quickly.
'Sinners of the Past,' Silas thought, recalling the quest's name. He now had a rough idea of the foe he would have to face. 'Arachne, The Cursed Weaver.'