Before he was even fully awake, Seventh found himself sniffing the air at the downstairs in the Bloated Badger Tavern. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he identified the wafting fragrance as porridge and freshly fried bacon.

  Annise kicked the kitchen door open only to notice a groggy necromancer standing in the middle of her tavern. "Oh? Awake already?" her voice was high, creaky, and mildly disappointed about something. She carried a steaming pot of porridge.

  "Yes. I went to bed early," Seventh answered.

  Tavernkeeper harrumphed. "I noticed. I try to keep the tavern afloat, you know. You could show some respect— drink yourself under the table, order a lot of meat."

  "I... see what I can do," Seventh said with a blank face and pointed at the pot. "That for clients?"

  "Nooo, I just like to make porridge for the smell," she said with exasperated mockery. "Of course it is! Don't be a fool, boy! Take a bowl, eat. Don't mind Reese sleeping under the table. Now that's a good customer!"

  Glancing under the nearby table, Seventh could see an old scrawny man hugging a large wine bottle. Judging from the pool of drool— and the second pool of liquid— he had been sleeping there for a while now. Probably for the whole night.

  When Seventh glanced back up, Annise had carried the pot at the far end of the tavern to keep it hot in the fireplace. Bowls and utensils were already at the table West Wind had used last night and Seventh lumbered to fix himself a bowl. He was still too sleepy to function as a proper person when the tavernkeeper brought bacon and bread to the table, and sat down right across Seventh.

  He quietly focused on his food and after a while Annise coughed loudly. "So, you're a Necromancer? Better keep those minions away if you know what's best for you. They stink up the place, drive out the business."

  Seventh swallowed before nodding. "Of course, ma'am. Your house your rules."

  "BAH!" she swatted her hand up. "I ain't that old! I'm Annise. Or Sweet Cheeks if we get to know better." She winked at Seventh, and made a wide smirk making her crow's feet deepen.

  "Annise it is then," Seventh said, and made a smile of his own. "I'm Seventh."

  "I know. West Wind made quite a ruckus last night."

  Seventh grimaced at that. "Right. You think they wake up today?"

  Annise shrugged. "Maybe. If they are peckish. Usually they sleep at least a day before starting to function as people."

  Her old blue eyes looked at Seventh. "You're up though. Little sleep. Not too much food." She tapped the table as she spoke. "And you didn't drink."

  Seventh waited for a question. When one didn't come, he slowly took another spoonful of porridge, looking right back at Annise. She chuckled. "They claimed you aren't an adventurer yet, but you have the audacity nailed down already."

  She leaned back, and crossed her arms. Determined not to blink or break eye contact. "Don't cause any harm in here and we're good. Don't cast more spells inside— any spell— and keep your personal shit outside. We have an understanding?"

  Seventh had a feeling there was already some kind of misunderstanding at play here, but he didn't exactly know what. His jaw worked the porridge as he tried to get what Annise was hinting at. Spells... oh right, he had cast the Bone Wall as usual when he went to sleep.

  Seventh swallowed before speaking. “I'm, uh, sorry about the spells. I just cast them without thinking. We have an understanding," he said, nodding, and lowered his empty bowl. He started to eye the bacon and bread.

  Annise scoffed while standing up. She pulled a rag out of nowhere and started to wipe the other tables. There were empty bottles and occasional toppled mug here and there. She was clearly cleaning last night's mess.

  “There's a fine for unlicensed spellcasting in my tavern. I'll bring it to you.” She picked up a serving platter piled with an assortment of mugs, plates, and empty bottles, leaving Seventh to think about his misdeeds.

  Seventh thought as he sighed deeply. His starting gloom halted as Annise returned with a mug of ale and a small pouch.

  “Usually you have to buy one mug per casting, but since you're young, cute, stupid, and first-time-offender, I'll lower the cost.” She dropped the pouch in front of Seventh. “It's four copper per mug, so you know. Your friends left you some spending money for the day— I already took the copper from there.”

  Seventh eyed the mug and coin pouch. It looked like West Wind still thought they had basically robbed Seventh's umbrefel pelt. In hindsight, he should have negotiated some coin for himself, but it all had worked out in the end. In the future, he would make better deals.

  Peering inside the pouch revealed one gold coin, five silver ones, and around twenty coppers. More than enough for one week of careful spending for food and lodging. He hadn't asked, but a basic room like his with a lumpy mattress, hole in a wall for a window, and food was probably in the fifteen to twenty copper per night price range.

  Seventh smiled as he closed the pouch and sent it to the realm beyond mortal comprehension— also known as his voidspace. He had lucked out with meeting the West Wind. They were friendly and kind to help a random stranger like this, and Seventh had to find a way to return the favor. The fact that he had given them a rare pelt for almost nothing escaped his mind again.

  Annise was peering at the purple light conjured by the Void of Entropy and Seventh changed the subject. "Is there a Church of the System nearby?" Seventh asked while fixing himself a slice of bread with generous amount of bacon.

  Annise stopped the wiping to properly stare at Seventh with a raised, questioning eyebrow. "Didn't take you for a churcher, but yeah, there is a cathedral. Turn right at the door, walk up till you see— well, a cathedral. If you start seeing more well dressed folk and catch stares down the nose you have walked too far," she instructed. “And when the guards start to ask for papers, you have gone far.”

  "Okay, thanks."

  The bread piled with bacon disappeared quickly inside Seventh's mouth and he licked his fingers clean from the delicious grease. He hadn't touched the mug Annise had given him, his “fine” for spellcasting. When he rose from the table, picked it up and donated the ale to the sleeping man on the floor. To his amazement, when he lowered the mug towards the clearly unconscious man he grabbed the thing eyes closed, gulped it down, and continued his peaceful slumber after throwing the mug across the room.

  “Oi! Don't feed the Drunkard! If that mug breaks it'll be yours to pay!”

  “Sorry, Annise. I didn't know he could do that.”

  “The sorry bastard probably has some Skill or two to get through the day. Let him sleep.” Annise said with a sigh. She looked at the man with a pitying face with a hint of sadness. Feeding the masses was her livelihood, but pouring more alcohol into people like Reese came with complicated feelings about morality and ethics.

  Following Annise's advice, Seventh left the man to his life and walked out of the door. It was early in the morning, the sun wasn't even properly above the city's walls, and the air was cool and crisp. It was somewhere in the early summer, maybe a week or two after the first plantings of the fields.

  Other pedestrians were groggy street merchants slowly pushing their carts to the best positions and guardsmen walking towards their switchpoint with the next shift. Following the instructions, after the right turn, Seventh headed up the street and tried to spy a cathedral between the houses.

  A loudly whining teenager pushing a cart drew his attention. He was a lanky one, dressed in a commoners tunic and trousers like Seventh, but his hair was attention-seeking bright blue. Clearly dyed since his father— Seventh assumed the older man walking next to the cart was the teen's father— had more natural blonde hair.

  Apparently the boy had tried to dye his hair last night, but the concoction he had was a little bit too...effective. “Dad! I look like a blueberry! Everyone back home is going to laugh at me!!”

  “If they were truly your friends, they wouldn't laugh.”

  The boy rolled his eyes violently around his eye sockets. “Ugh!!! You know that's not true. We joke, get it? Joking with friends. Come on, it's just one silver, and I can fix the hair.”

  “That's how the city folk gets you. First they give you problems, then they sell you solutions. I think the hair suits you. Maybe you could try to get class in Knave or Jester?” The old man chuckled as he walked lazily next to the cart. He noticed Seventh looking at their direction and beamed a smile. “Mornin', Mister. Need for apples or oranges? We have the freshest stock around. Only three coppers per dozen for apples, seven for oranges.”

  “Uhh, no thanks. I'm boarding at a tavern and they have my food covered. Maybe later if I see you around?” Seventh said while thinking what they were selling. Orange? They were selling color? Similar thing the teen had used?

  Looking at the cart, Seventh could see something orange peeking below the cloth tarp protecting the produce.

  “Mighty fine, Mister. Have a good morning. Say good morning, Geff.”

  “Morning,” the blue-haired teen named Geff said. He continued to mumble something about hating his life and his hair.

  “You two have a good morning too.”

  Continuing his trek upwards through the city, Seventh had time to think about his plan— or the lack of it. He had asked about the Church on a whim because of Sylvia's suggestion.

  He really felt lost now. There wasn't a tunnel to walk through, no grand hall to clean from ratkin, or a cave filled with poison. Just...empty sky and a world around him. It terrified him. Freedom.

  Also, Seventh knew next to nothing about the Church. He didn't even know what god they venerated, if any. When he arrives at this cathedral, he'd have to watch his words and not ask blindingly stupid questions. Maybe going into the specifics would be better? Something niche and hard to answer?

  Maybe he would start with something simple. Like how's the job market? Any need for Scholars or scribes? How's adventuring around here?

  Lost in thought, Seventh continued his walk, arriving at the foot of a tall and wide building made of weathered grey stone. It seemed like a long rectangle with round towers at the corners, pointing at the Heavens with a tapering red baked-clay roof. Stained-glass windows told Seventh about massive wealth. Not just the amount of windows, but the bright colors and intricate designs.

  Main doors were surrounded by a dozen windows on each side, depicting people with their eyes closed. Squinting, Seventh could barely see a small text panel under each figure. The closest one was a man wearing a pure white robe with a thick grey book on his left arm and on the other hand a staff that transformed in one end into two heads of a hydra. A panel of text under him named the man as Issaiah, the Dead Saint of Remedies and Anatomy.

  Guessing the others were also some kind of religious figures, Seventh didn't feel great need to walk around and check them all out at this point. There could be some nuggets of wisdom and religious trivia, but he figured a man walking back and forth looking at the windows would be more suspicious.

  The main doors were over ten feet tall and wide enough to have a group of people walk in at once, set in an alcove. Two large statues watched over Seventh as he stopped to look up. They were posed ready to strike with their spears made from real steel, not just sculpted stone. Even their breastplates were steel, delicately inscribed with silver and gold. Even without their wings on their backs Seventh could guess what they were: messengers of the gods— Angels, Devas or Seraphim.

  Seventh spent a long second looking at the two figures, hand on the door handle. Whoever had carved those statues was talented, they were almost lifelike, but that slightly displeased expression on both faces and the poses made them sneer down their noses a bit. What a way to make churchgoers feel small.

  Huffing at the thought, Seventh opened the door and entered the vestibule. It was well-lit with tall iron floor candelabras spaced around the room. Only every other was lit with half the candles since the windows provided ample light inside. Doorways on both sides led to stairways to galleries and choir lofts. The nave itself opened in a grand way without a dividing wall between it and the vestibule.

  The room was vast, unpleasantly reminding Seventh of the grand halls inside the Dungeon of Tears. Pillars supporting the roof didn't help with the mental image, but this room wasn't empty, cold, and echoing with ratkin skittering.

  Rows of pews lined the floor, leaving a single carpeted walkway down the middle reaching the chancel with the altar. Seventh wasn't alone in the church. Here and there were other commoners sitting in pews, heads held down or just looking up and around. Most sat alone, but there were a couple small groups, and grey-robed priests conversed in hushed tones with the people.

  A gaggle of the priests was convening at the altar. Over a dozen men and women singing and swinging censers around. Smoke from multiple censers filled the air and an occasional high note of the priests' chant echoed from the rock walls.

  Seventh walked towards the altar, but he had no intention to walk all the way there. Gods only knew what kind of social blunder he could do there. Maybe accidentally wash his face with holy water or sneeze at an priceless artifact?

  He noticed that the people whose heads were down weren't praying like he had initially thought but reading books. Some had piles of books next to them, some had only the one in their hands. The books ranged from small pocketbooks to hefty leather bound tomes with gilded pages.

  There might be a library of sorts in here? A public bookcase for reading? Seventh thought as he looked around. He didn't see any bookcases, but he spied a side door he had initially missed. It was half hidden in a shadowy nook below a gallery.

  "Lost?" a nasal creak of a voice asked.

  Seventh flinched and looked hastily around. The last time a mysterious voice had spoken to him out of the blue in a temple, he'd been sent to fight an umbrefel, so he was slightly on edge. Seventh noticed a small man sitting right next to him on the edge of a pew. Age had shrunken the man into a tiny mass and he was almost completely hidden when sitting hunched. He could easily be mistaken for a gnome or hairless dwarf.

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  “Um.” The sight of the man had made Seventh almost speechless. The man's face looked like his wrinkles had puffed out and covered his entire face, almost covering the eyes completely. “I was just wondering where all the books came from. From those side doors?”

  Seventh nodded at the doors, and the old man lifted his head to follow his gaze before nodding. “Yes, we have a collection of books you can ask to borrow. Mostly catalogs of Skills, but some more mainstream publications for fun. No copying, no taking it to home. Just reading. You like books?”

  “I think so? I haven't actually read one but—“

  The man glanced up with outrage— or at least Seventh thought that was what the man was aiming for. He just looked like shivering old plum. “You haven't read a book? What's wrong with you boy?”

  “I-uh-aah just learned to read and write. Skill with class,” Seventh defended himself.

  “Aah, I guess that's acceptable.” The man huffed and calmed down. “Not from very affluent area then? Farming village? A small hamlet somewhere distant?”

  The old man was basically dangling a lifeline in front of Seventh and he snatched it greedily. “Yes, you could say that. This is actually... the first time I have visited a church. Ever.”

  Bones creaked as the old man tilted his head with a expression of utter bafflement. His mouth opened and closed before he let it hang loose. Suddenly, he scooted over and patted the pew where he had been sitting, inviting Seventh to sit.

  “Not every day we get heathens like you. I ought to throw you into the stoup for that.” The small prune of a man eyed Seventh suspiciously and leaned in. “It's the thing with the holy water if you didn't know. Now, sit and we get your soul sorted out.”

  Seventh was already half sitting when the man had spoken. What was that about his soul? He made contact with the wooden pew and felt mild anxiety rising up.

  The man flicked his wrist in dismissive gesture. Something was grating inside his hand making Seventh wince. “It's nothing serious, just a saying, that's all. I'm Father Degen, but I'd prefer that you just call me Degen. Being called Father all the time makes me think I had a frivolous youth.”

  Seventh chuckled and offered his hand. “Seventh Seven. Nice to meet you Degen.”

  Degen shook Seventh's hand. “Seventh Seven? Did your parents stutter when naming you?”

  “I don't know. Never met either of them.”

  “Ah, apologies then. So, what made you come to church today? I assume there were churches sprinkled all around the countryside when you traveled here from this hamlet of yours? So why this cathedral here?”

  Seventh decided to answer with the truth. A half of it anyways. “I didn't travel here normally. There was a... teleportation incident of sorts and I was dropped into a dungeon— the Dungeon of Tears— and an adventurer suggested I visit.”

  “Little unusual. Both the teleportation and the suggestion.”

  Seventh shrugged. “They're kinda connected. She said I should visit the church if I were... lost?” Degen's first question sprang into Seventh's mind. Maybe he had meant it more spiritually?

  Checking the old man's face, Seventh could tell he was pleased. “I guess she meant it more than geographically?” Seventh said sheepishly.

  “Well, I could pull out a map and help you to plan a return trip, but if my hunch is correct, there's more?” Degen asked. He had leaned back and placed his interlocked hands on his lap.

  Seventh listened to the chanting priests for a moment while thinking for an answer. Looking at the wafting incense smoke and quiet chanting made a cozy atmosphere. Something that felt safe. And in Seventh's battle- and survival-fried brain brought up anxiety. Getting too comfortable and relaxed would lead to something devastating.

  “I don't think I can go back home,” Seventh whispered. “I don't think there even a home for me. I... I don't know what I should do— what I even want to do.”

  Degen nodded and licked his lips. “How did you survive the dungeon? Before you met the adventurer that helped you?”

  “I gained a new Class. And it was a party of adventurers. The Class was the second thing I noticed was wrong. Whatever plucked me and chucked me into that dungeon also gave me Necromancer-class. Or at least I think it was the same thing?” Seventh frankly didn't know. Looking at the gift horse into the mouth didn't occur to him. Now it did. When he awakened, there were red boxes filled with garbled text and a moving body he had been locked inside.

  He shivered at the memory. The prison made of flesh and pain. Seventh took in a shuddering breath. A memory of a wheezing wound returned. The breath stuck in his throat.

  “Now, now. Calm. You are here now,” Degen said warmly, and placed his crinkly hand on Seventh's knee, tapping it lightly.

  Seventh flinched at the touch, but it was something he needed. A warmth of someone else. His breath returned and he took in multiple lungfuls of fresh air.

  “So, you're unsure what to do with this new class? Should you keep it or embrace some other aspects of yourself? What other classes do you have? Commoner? Farmer?” Degen asked.

  “I... sorta, yeah. I also have Soldier and Scholar. That one actually gave me the Skill to read and write.”

  Degen nodded and stroked his clean-shaved chin. A sly smile rose to his lips. “I see. I see. This is the bread and butter of the clergy— the most common problem, you could say.”

  Seventh waited for Degen to continue. When the old man continued his stroking, Seventh rolled his eyes. “And what is the most common problem?”

  “Good of you to ask! It is simple: the road diverges in the woods, what road will you take? The most walked one— the safe one— or the one less traveled with dangers and trepidation?”

  Seventh squinted his eyes at the old man. “I mean, I would take the—“

  “Ah, ah!” Degen interrupted. “It is a metaphorical question, my boy, not a real one. You were gonna say the safe one, right? No sane man would choose the danger, right? Now, saying that the safe road is your Scholar-class and the dangerous one is Necromancer-class. How do you feel taking the safe road now?”

  Seventh opened his mouth for quick answer, but something stopped him. There was something critical lacking in his Scholar-class that he had grown to appreciate in his time in the dungeon. Magic and power, especially power.

  As a Necromancer, Seventh could actually do something. Fight monsters, gain money, fame, and again, power. What could a Scholar do? Maybe earn money and power in the end, but that would be... boring.

  He realized it wasn't safety that made him anxious. It was the waiting. Wait for a battle, a chance to fill his veins with magic and elation of battle and danger. Seventh wasn't meant to sit behind a desk for rest of his life. He was meant to something with his skills.

  “Boring,” Seventh finally said.

  “Hmmhm?”

  “The safe path sounds... dull. Something that everybody could do. But I could do more. Not only I could choose the more dangerous path, but I take it because there are people who wouldn't do that.” Seventh chuckled sadly. “At least not any sane ones at least.”

  Seventh stared at his right hand. The missing fingers. Two stubs had healed nicely, and he barely noticed their absence now. He had already paid the price of power to get this far, so why not just see how far he could go?

  “The System provides, the Path has been seen and chosen,” Degen said and drew an S in the air with his right hand.

  “Hey!” Seventh said panicking. “I don't mean I have locked that in! You can't just—“

  Degen's eyes rolled around his eye sockets. “Relax, boy, it's just a saying. I'm not weaving Fate to kick your behind towards the Adventurer's Guild.”

  “Oh, ah, sorry.” An embarrassed chuckle escaped from Seventh.

  Seventh looked at Degen, worried. He didn't know Degen's rank, but an old man like him should be high up. Gods only knew what wild Skills and powers he could have.

  “That's not something you can actually do. Right? Weaving Fate?” he asked out loud.

  “Heavens, What did I just say? We can only glimpse at the Will of the System, not alter or manipulate it,” Degen said incredulously. “Well, Oracles can do that. Loony maniacs, all of them.”

  Seventh nodded, relieved. Now that his Path or whatever had been sorted out, he had more questions about the church, but every single one would reveal his ignorance of the whole wide world. Maybe asking about these Oracles would be a good segue for new information?

  He was awkwardly scratching his beard when Degen spoke, “Out with it.”

  “So what does the Church actually believe in? Or do?” Seventh asked before his brain even had a chance to stop him. He immediately sucked in his lips and looked at Father Degen.

  The old shrunken man stared at him with wide eyes. Before he could even open his mouth, Seven hastily added, “I mean, I know the basics, of course, but I have heard some churches pray to other gods than others, there's some dogmatic differences, and what even they are doing over there?”

  A quick cartload of crap, and a pointing finger at the other priests at the altar later, Degen seemed to grasp some meaning behind Seventh's words. Seventh himself hoped that there was something not too suspicious.

  “Ahh, you are talking about the hedge priests.”

  Seventh thought while nodding at Degen.

  “Broadly speaking, they are missionaries of the Church, but joining the Church doesn't exclude them from serving the gods too. I think most of them worship gods of Knowledge and Magic? Well— anyway, they roam the kingdoms' edges and serve as the occasional spiritual guidance and interpret the Will of the System, just like we have done today.”

  Seventh slowly nodded and licked his lips. “Could you tell me more about the Will? It has been always little hazy to me.”

  Surprisingly, Degen chuckled heartily. “You're not the only one boy. Most of us can only hear the whispers of our Guiding Spirits and the gut feeling of how Skills work. Some don't have one or the other, and some truly lost souls don't get either of them. Most of the priests spend their entire lives studying the Will and it is still 'hazy' to them.”

  A fluffy caterpillar-like eyebrow raised as Degen appraised Seventh. “You have problems with your Skills? You know how they work?”

  “No problems there,” Seventh said, slowly returning to casual calm. “I can read what the blue boxes say and feel the information coming from the Skills. But... I don't believe I hear this Guiding Spirit.”

  Was Degen talking about that weird Help Desk? Seventh had accidentally closed it in his initial panic of finding himself inside a rotting corpse, and had promptly forgotten it. Was there any sound? He couldn't remember.

  “I...see,” Degen said with slightly suspicious tone. “Well, priests of the System are trained to help with coming together with your Skills and Classes, finding the Path.”

  “Is that just so nobody hurts themselves with Skills they don't know how to control?” Seventh asked. Degen had said 'the Path' so many times with reverie that Seventh could feel it importance.

  “Yes— and no.” Degen rolled his lips and smacked loudly in thought. “Being safe is important, true, but the true goal with the guidance is so that everybody could find their true place inside the System. When you are in place, you are part of something much more than just you and I— the System, a grand plan that will guide us to the final peace and bring everybody joy and salvation.”

  Seventh thought dryly.

  Almost like sensing Seventh's thoughts, Degen chuckled. “It is ambitious, believe me— I know. But if reaching for a common goal brings some good to the world, who can say its a bad thing?”

  “Probably those who have bad Classes. I saw a Drunkard this morning, at least I understood he had the Class, and I don't think that he aimed to become one.”

  Degen's mouth twitched ever so slightly down before returning to a friendlier expression. “Probably not, but that is what the System has given him. And if he has accepted the Class as his own, who are we to judge his Classes?”

  Seventh noticed that Degen chose to praise the Class, but didn't seem to care about the man itself. 'What are we to judge his Classes' instead of 'judging the man'. The old priest was probably doing just so inside his head, judging from the lightning fast mouth twitch.

  “And if he wanted to remove the Class? Or learn a new one?”

  The old man's hand flinched violently, he snapped his head to stare at Seventh. “Strike down the Heretic who soils the Gift of Classes.” Degen's voice was cold as icy steel. The old man's whole demeanor suddenly changed to something more menacing.

  “You shouldn't even ask about such things. Not in here, not anywhere. You can learn as much as you want, but to knowingly refuse the System? No. If you don't like a class, find a way to Evolve it to a new one. Or we...” the old man seemed much younger, livelier before he suddenly clammed his mouth shut and seethed in quiet rage.

  “I meant nothing by the question,” Seventh said as he raised his hands in a defensive manner. “I'm just... asking questions.”

  Degen harrumphed. “They just ”

  The old priest seemed to roll his tongue around, like he was sucking a displeasing sour lemon candy. He started to rummage through his robes, and pulled out a small, well-used pocketbook.

  “Here,” he said as he handed the book to Seventh. “Book of the System. It sounds like you need it more than I do.”

  Something seemed to click in his mind and a pleased smile rose to his face, all animosity and coldness forgotten. “And you haven't read a book before! How marvelous, this could be your first! Please, humor this old man and let this be your first!”

  The mood change was so sudden Seventh just accepted the offered book and stared at the old priest. A rising crescendo of a chant peeled his focus off Degen.

  The priests around the altar had apparently finished whatever they were doing and had formed a procession. An older woman clothed in snow-white silks embroidered with gold was holding a deep red pillow, a piece of parchment was resting cozily on it.

  The group walked slowly towards the main door between the pews. Seventh noticed the other citizens also lifted their heads and watched at the procession with mild curiosity.

  “So what are they doing?” Seventh whispered the question at Degen.

  “You are witnessing one of the oldest, the most sacred sacraments of our priesthood. The Ritual of Patching,” Degen answered with a hushed tone. “I have never seen one either, it's that rare.”

  Seventh gave Degen a curious glance before continuing observing the group of priests. If this ritual was so special, why there weren't many more people in here? Or more priests for that matter?

  When the parchment was carried past Seventh, all he could see was a normal piece of parchment spotted with crude lines of ink in a dazzling maelstrom of a picture. The edges had curled up revealing bloody imprints on the other side. Seventh wanted to ask Degen more, but the priests stopped right next to them.

  Without a word, a pair of ropes holding a brass cylinder descended from above. The cylinder was promptly opened by two priests and the parchment's upper edge was carefully placed inside. As the cylinder closed again, the piece of a former lambskin had become a banner of sorts.

  As silently as it had been lowered, the brass cylinder was lifted up, and as Seventh followed its path, he could see thousands of similar parchments littering the roof. You could barely see the roof from between them. That finally made Seventh open his mouth in mild astonishment. More to the sheer time used to lift everything up. Thousands upon thousands of manhours used to lift some parchments up.

  A soft metallic click sounded inside the church. Almost every priest rose up— Degen stood still— and spoke as one: “The System provides.” Even Degen had joined from his seat. They all drew the symbol of the System, a simple S, in the air with their fingers.

  Seventh watched as the procession continued their journey straight through the main doors, all the way swinging their censers and chanting. He had yet to recognize the language, but he supposed it didn't matter. He had no idea what had happened and why, and knowing what had been sung probably wouldn't help much.

  “Sooo, what was that? The parchment?” Seventh asked. He was the only parishioner still even mildly curious about the ceremony. All the others had resumed reading or were in the process of standing up and preparing for their daily work.

  “It was a Patch Note, a physical manifestation of the System. An Oracle passed a dungeon hallway where something had happened, something that the System itself acknowledged,” Degen answered. Then he shrugged. “At least that's what we it is.”

  Seventh lowered his gaze from the rafters to incredulously glare at the shrunken priest. “You don't know? How...wha?”

  Not knowing seemed like madness to Seventh. They had a ceremony and everything for this! What was even more baffling was Degen's nonchalant attitude towards an artifact that bear a touch of the System itself. Seventh wasn't even a believer and it sounded otherworldly to him.

  Degen answered Seventh's gaze with one of his own, the pious priest one. “We don't need to know exactly what it says. We have something far more powerful and enduring than knowledge: we have faith.”

  Seventh rolled his eyes.

  “Well, that was a rude thought,” Degen remarked.

  “Urgh.” Seventh tried not to swallow his tongue. Did Degen just read his thoughts?

  “No, I'm not a Mindbender. Just very good at reading faces. Rolling eyes like that isn't subtle you know. Not at all.”

  Just in case, Seventh tried not to think about anything. As a man it was surprisingly easy.

  "Anyhow, I need to join the priests when they return. They do a small loopty-loop around the cathedral after ceremonies and go for breakfast. See you around, Seventh?”

  “Yeah, I think I'll stick around. If nothing else, there's books.”

  "Well, the Adventurer's Guild should be open by now. And it's a fine, crisp morning for new adventurers."

  Seventh furrowed his brow and continued his stare at Degen. The priest was doing a poor job of assuring him not being a mindreader.

  The old priest scoffed. “Don't look too surprised, son. You're not the first or the last would-be-adventurer who comes through those doors before going straight to the Guila lumpy mattresses d.

  “I'm that predictable, huh? Well, good to know that I follow the norm in that at least,” Seventh said and raised his hand for a shake. “Thank you, Father Degen.

  Degen accepted the hand with a grimace. “I believe I said to call me just Degen.” He started to squeeze Seventh's hand very, forcefully. “Didn't I?”

  Despite the bait, Seventh just shook the hand and grinned. “I believe you did... Just Degen.”

  The pressure eased as Seventh's arm was released. He rose up and with a final smiling wave to Degen headed outside. He had a new book to read before he dared to step a foot inside the Adventurer's Guild. And there was one last person Seventh wanted to consult before making the final decision. The most important person.

  Father Degen quietly watched as the young man walked away, back straight, future full of hope. When he disappeared through the doors, he sat alone on the wooden pew, tapping the wood with his finger.

  “Blue boxes? Where have I heard about before? Hmhhhm,” he mused. It was something to think about.

  People had sometimes weird ways how the Guiding Spirit manifested, but someone asking weird questions was always interesting to Degen. Especially today, when the Patch Note was united with its kindred.

  Sliding down from the pew, he grabbed his circular cushion he had been sitting on and glanced at the roof. He couldn't see which one was the most recent one, but that wasn't important.

  Blue boxes. Patch Note. That bastard Tanner and his lapdog. How did Seventh Seven fit in all that? What was the Will of the System telling him? What song the Fate was making?

  Slowly shuffling towards the side door, Degen quietly wondered where he had stored his mace and thumb-screws. He wanted to oil them, just in case.