Chapter 50 

Curtis  and Lillia stepped out from the triage tent at last.
The flow of patients had not abated for hours, and even idle conversation felt like a crime beneath the weight of so many suffering souls.

“We can just… leave?” Curtis  asked, glancing back.

“I told them we’d be gone for a while. It’s fine!” Lillia replied brightly.

“…Hmm.”

“Each clinic tent is staffed with a deacon and a monastic assistant,” she explained. “And for critical cases, a presiding priest oversees everything.”

Before Curtis  could speak again, another voice slipped in beside them, quiet and certain.

Jenny.

She had been waiting nearby, and now joined them as naturally as a shadow folding into dusk.

“In truth, Sister Lillia wasn’t officially assigned to this tent in the first place,” Jenny said with practiced calm. “She stepped in without authorization. So returning control to the rightful clerics is only setting things back in order. You needn’t worry.”

“Well… that’s a relief,” Curtis  muttered.

“I didn’t exactly do it without permission…” Lillia pouted.

“Hush. That last man left like a cat caught in the wrong yard,” Jenny said, casting a sharp glance. “What happened with him?”

“He wasn’t actually sick,” Lillia replied, crossing her arms. “He just wanted a quick miracle.”

“Oh dear. You handled it well, then.”

Still exchanging quiet remarks, the trio made their way deeper into Church grounds.

The compound was vast—larger than most noble estates Curtis  had seen. Rows of white-stone buildings flanked an open courtyard, and among them stood one structure reserved for special guests: a reception hall, finely built and rarely used.

They entered a vacant drawing room. Jenny brewed tea with ritual grace, placing cups on a silver tray that caught the sunlight like a polished mirror.

As Curtis  received his cup, he couldn’t help but raise a brow.

“Forgive my asking, Lady Jenny… but are you involved with this request as well? If you’ve more pressing duties, please don’t feel obliged to stay.”

“She’s like my big sister!” Lillia blurted cheerfully.

“…I’ve looked after her since childhood,” Jenny confirmed, seating herself with the poise of a seasoned attendant. “I currently serve as her designated deacon and aide.”

“I see,” Curtis  said with a nod.

Deacons and priests were often paired, much like senior and junior partners, but such permanent assignments were rare. Rotations were standard. Attachment was discouraged.

But Lillia… Lillia was no ordinary priestess.

A rare gem in the Church’s palm—a jewel in the hand, as the saying went. It was no surprise they’d assigned someone like Jenny to accompany her. Especially given Lillia’s… unpredictable nature.

In truth, Jenny looked less like an aide and more like a patient guardian.

And if she had been with Lillia since childhood, that role was surely earned. Watching them, Curtis  could sense a bond deeper than duty. One born of time.

While he pondered these thoughts, Lillia set her teacup down with a soft clink—barely touched. Under the weight of Curtis ’s curious gaze, she found herself unable to enjoy even the aroma of the tea.

Curtis  drank just enough to wet his throat, then placed his cup down as well.

As if waiting for that very moment, Lillia sat up straight and clapped her hands together.

“Oh! I never even asked your name! Or properly introduced myself. How rude of me!”

She folded her hands primly, smile radiant.

“I’m Lillia! I received my ordination in the Diocese of Abaca.”

“Curtis ,” he replied with a slight bow. “Formerly a mercenary based in Nizertere. I arrived in Abaca only yesterday.”

“Lovely to meet you, Brother Curtis ! Wait—Nizertere? Where’s that?”

“A coastal city to the southeast.”

“Goodness, that’s far! Did you come because of my request?”

“I only learned of your existence yesterday, to be honest.”

“Well then! I only learned of Nizertere just now—so we’re even!”

Even in what, Curtis  couldn’t say—but before the conversation could veer further, Jenny gently stepped in to steer it back on course.

“Let’s speak frankly. Brother Curtis , you mentioned wanting to hear more about the request earlier, yes?”

“I did. I’ve looked into it somewhat, but… the mercenaries who took the job before me are long gone, and every rumor I found told the same vague story.”

The most memorable came from Doni, who had tried to dissuade him altogether: “Close your eyes, grab any job off the board, and you’ll find something easier and better paid than that priestess’s death-march.”

Curtis  hadn’t repeated those words aloud, but Jenny clearly caught their echo between the lines. She sighed.

“That sounds about right. The task is essentially a… continuous extermination mission. Ongoing until Sister Lillia chooses otherwise.”

“Extermination? Carried out by a single priestess?” Curtis  asked, brows raised. “Is this a sanctioned Church mission?”

“If it were,” Jenny said dryly, “the job wouldn’t have such a dreadful reputation.”

“It’s not that bad…”

Lillia tried to protest, but Jenny quieted her with a glance and continued.

“In truth, it doesn’t matter who organizes the mission. So long as the pay is good, someone will take it. The problem is… Sister Lillia’s offer isn’t.”

“I did pay,” Lillia mumbled.

“Yes, you did,” Jenny said smoothly. “You never withheld a coin. But you also never promised how many coins, either. So technically… no lies were told.”

Lillia’s eyes widened in innocent protest, but Curtis  saw the truth of it now. She wasn’t a malicious employer—just an overly zealous one.

She genuinely believed that “working hard to fight evil” and “being fairly paid” could peacefully coexist in the same sentence. She’d pooled funds from her Church stipend, scraped together personal offerings, and done her utmost to reward anyone who stood beside her.

It just wasn’t enough.

For most mages, her schedule was grueling. For many, her payment—while well-intentioned—felt like a pittance. An overworked wizard with a fraction of a proper fee. The very definition of “passion pay.”

And truly, no single cleric could afford a mage’s market price out of pocket. Not even one as earnest as Lillia.

“I was very clear at the beginning,” she huffed. “Everyone said it was fine, then left later and blamed me!”

“Well, they were at fault too,” Jenny acknowledged. “Anyone who accepts a vague contract can’t complain about it later.”

“Right?! That’s what I said!”

“But, to be fair… vague contracts shouldn’t be written to begin with.”

“Ugh…”

“In truth,” Curtis  interjected at last, “this feels less like employer and employee… and more like partners. Or companions in a shared cause.”

Jenny nodded, pleased.

“Exactly. Closer to comrades-in-arms. Perhaps even… a fellowship.”

And that, Curtis  thought, was the most accurate title of all.

Not master and servant. Not leader and follower.

But comrades—bound not by gold, but purpose.

The Frontier Expanse (2)

What Lillia sought was not a sellsword obsessed with coin, nor a cold mage for hire.
She longed for a companion—one who would walk the same road, not for gold, but for purpose.

“To post a request like that on a mercenary board, where coin rules above all else… well, you can guess how that went.”
“No one else would take it,” she mumbled. “It’s not like we had anywhere else to post it…”

“Well, true,” Jenny admitted, her voice laced with resignation. “But you’d have had better luck finding a low-cost swordsman than a proper mage.”

“I can fight like a swordsman if I have to,” Lillia insisted. “But a mage’s support… that, I can’t do without.”

On that point, no argument could be made.

Warriors and mages were not interchangeable. When the need was tactical, not brute, when the rhythm of combat required balance—there could be no substitutes.

Curtis  turned toward Jenny, a curious gleam in his eye.

“Does the Church not offer aid? I’d think Lillia’s request carries weight enough to merit support.”

“If it were just the occasional mage, they might have helped,” Jenny replied, her tone flat, unflinching. “But the kind of mage Lillia seeks—capable, relentless, unwavering? That’s far too expensive. There’s no profit in it.”

Her words struck clean as a blade.