The news of the head priest Fullmoon stepping down from his position shook the city profoundly. The gossip circles went wild with their theories: that the other priests thought he was an agent of the Demon King, that he fell from grace in the Chief God's Order because of his daughter, that he was sacrificed in a political game with the fall of Lescatie as an excuse, that he was an example and a warning for other priests… theories abounded, and the final act of the priest before his resignation went unnoticed by most, but not by all…

"What do you mean, I have to take him in the order of the Holy Light?!" the knight-commander shouted at the former head priest, now wearing a far less extravagant robe.

"This is an elite unit! Not even the sons of nobles can worm their way in! What was it you were thinking, Fullmoon?"

"Now, now, commander. There is no need to shout, I can hear you just fine." The priest spoke as if he was explaining things to a child, but without the patronizing tone that was typical of him up to now.

"I will shout as loud as I can! Do you think I will stand for this? If every whelp were to enter that order, our very efficiency and strength would go out the window! I saw that protege of yours, and I must say, even farm hands have better chances than him. What makes you think he is worthy?"

"He is a blessed one."

"Here you go about blessings!" the knight-commander growled. In this private room, he could speak aloud for matters that would otherwise land him in trial for heresy. "Noscrim was blessed, Dascaros was blessed, and look what good it turned out for them!"

The priest smiled serenely. He expected as much. The knight-commander was a practical man, who thought that steel, skill and wit was the best way to deal with the monsters. That belief made him commander of one of the most respected and feared units in the Order's military branch.

"This isn't something done for politics, Frederic. This isn't done for morale. This is my last wish. This boy… I blessed him myself."

The tension seemed to lessen from the man's face. "I swear, if it is one of the mind games for more political strength-" he cut himself short, when he looked at the priest's face. All of the tension and haughty feeling from the position of a head priest was gone from the now older face. He seemed… peaceful. He sighed. "...fine. I'll try this kid, but mark my words. If he is unfit, or he quits on his own, I'll have your hide for this. I really don't know what you're thinking..." he paused. "I'm sorry about your daughter. Is it true that you're stepping down?"

A cloud of sorrow darkened the priest's face. "Yes. And thank you. I'll be over the orphanage, if you ever need me." He smiled at the surprise on the knight's face.

"You are going to an orphanage.. in the slums?"

"Yes."

The knight-commander sighed. "Fine. I see you are serious about this one. I'll see to him." He pressed his seal over the document before him, on his desk. "Let's hope he is worth it."

"Believe me, he is."

"I will see about it myself. You know I won't pull any punches."

"He wouldn't have it any other way."

The bell for the last shift rang, and Alatar jerked awake. He was sleeping on one of the books his colleague had lend him. He closed it and began preparing for the day. Polishing his armor and sword was a daily routine, and as he soon learned, it wasn't just for show. The sight of a shining, orderly and disciplined unit boosted morale for the troops on the battlefield, and sowed terror in the opposing force. That was a reason that the drills were hard and unforgiving.

"When you come face-to-face with a monster, it will be your skills and your condition that will determine the victor" he remembered the commander yell. "God helps those who help themselves, and if you are helpless on your own, don't hope to come through on faith alone"

The commander taught the unit's rookies himself. It was on a private boot camp, outside of the city's walls. Words like these would send another person right in court for blasphemy, and the commander received warnings every week or two at his desk about his conduct, which he then promptly threw in the fireplace. The only reason he wasn't on a pyre and burning alive, was that he was the commander of the Order of Holy Light.

Smiling, Alatar downed a potion of his own creation to clear his head from the drowsiness of sleep. It helped him greatly to pull through the day, but unfortunately it didn't eliminate the fatigue itself. There were days when after training he would sleep like a log and get woken up by the commander himself, with an iron boot on his face and cleaning the hallways after practice. His fellow knights mocked him for that, but he didn't care. His growth rate was big enough to be almost concerning. When he entered the order, he was just a scrawny young man. Now he had build up physique and discipline, as well as a new appreciation for the knights. At least the good ones. Combining the warrior's discipline and combat mindset with a mage's analytical thought and magic use seemed an unlikely combination to him at first, thinking that he would use each skillset separately, but when he actually thought it through, deep down both walks of life had some common basic principles. The battle trance that experience warriors had, was a lot like the meditation and concentration he had to exert when he was using spells. The muscle memory that enabled him to react on instinct and reflex was, in a way, the same ability that the powerful mages had, to fling spells without even thinking about it. And the training of his body showed him a way to increase his mana reserves. As was his body getting stronger by training it, his mind got stronger by practicing spells over and over, trying even those he wasn't "ready for". There were a couple of times when the commander had found him unconscious at the training grounds, after an exhausting training session with all four elements. He ate up treatises of all kinds, from military tactics to martial art techniques to magical seals and new spells. His analytical thought of finding and understanding the underlying principles served him well, when most others would just memorize without understanding what were the inner workings, be it battle tactics or magic spells.

The commander had been on his throat since day one, looking for the slightest mistake so that he could give him a hard time. It irked him to no end at first, but looking back, he really started to appreciate what this trial by fire had given him. Even as a mage, his motivation only perked up on things that roused his interest. Now, with the patience he got after long hours of repeating the same drill and spell over and over, he could set his sights on something and keep at it.

However, he lacked experience, and that was why he enjoyed talking with the battle-hardened veterans, both knights and mages. Thinking up new ways of battling monsters, devising new strategies and techniques and spells, as well as potions and devices, was his pastime in what little free time he had.

He finished polishing his armor and sharpening his sword. Today was a big day. After two years of grueling training, today was the day they… kind of "graduated" from the commander's boot camp and get their first assignment. First assignments were the proof that the knights were ready for duty, and what the few that made through it called jokingly "graduation diplomas".

The morning bell rang, and he cursed. He was musing too much, and he had to hurry to get fully ready. Opening his expansion pouch, something he made along with his old colleague Pallanto, he stuffed the book inside. The pouch was something that could make him rich, as Pallanto frequently pointed out, but Alatar reasoned that if it ever fell to monster hands, the results would be disastrous. In the space of a small pouch, one could store two rooms worth of items, but it could very well store monsters as well, while hiding their presence. If someone got such a thing past a city's gates, it would be a matter of hours before the city fell, and without as much as a warning or reaction.

He rushed out of his room and hurried along with the rest knights into formation at the courtyard. They stood in silence, as the heavy footsteps of the commander echoed in the morning air.

"Attention!"

"At ease, men. Today is your final day of fun." the commander spoke. "From now on you are active members of the Order of Holy Light… what's left of you." A few stifled laughs were cut immediately when the commander glared. "This is no longer training, men. This is the real world. These assignments are not patrols, or sweeping the corridors" his gaze rested a bit on Alatar "but real commissions, in medium-risk areas. You will be called to protect villages, train troops, or participate in sorties. You are now officially paid by the Order, and expected to carry out your duties to the letter. And most of all, never ever neglect your training and caring for your equipment. The fact that you made it through your training doesn't mean you get to slack off."

Two foot soldiers came, carrying a medium-sized box. The commander pulled a stack of scrolls from it.

"The men that I call, step forward."

He then started assigning missions to groups of three or four men, giving them a scroll with details, and also the cape of the Order of Holy Light, in white silk with their emblem: a silver cross bathed in golden godrays.

The men took it and left, to the market where they could show off their new status and purchase a gift to celebrate. The formation became smaller and smaller, until Alatar was left.

The stack of scrolls was gone too, and the last group of knights gave Alatar a puzzled look as they left. He started feeling anxious. What was going on?

"Alatar Moriatan"

He stepped forth, walking briskly towards the commander, his heart rate increasing in every step.

The commander didn't make a move to look further inside the box, as they both knew it was empty. Alatar's heart sank. What was going on?

"Oh my…" the commander said in a totally unconvincing tone. "It seems that I forgot your assignment in my room. How irresponsible from me." Alatar's eyes hardened. A secret assignment.

"Well, can't be helped. Follow me."

"Yes, sir."

P.S. Chapter 3 is out. Criticism welcome. More on the way.