Red Creek Town lies on the outskirts of Igwynt County, far from the county’s capital, Igwynt. Due to its isolated location and poor accessibility, it has never been a bustling place. Compared to towns like Vulcan or Purple Hill, it lags behind in prominence. Even many of Igwynt’s own residents are unaware of its existence, let alone those from outside the county. It’s a place of low visibility, to say the least.
Yet, a month ago, this obscure little town became the center of an astonishing discovery. This discovery drew unusual visitors to its modest chapel, setting the stage for an equally unusual and tragic event.
Nightfall outside Red Creek Town.
Thick black clouds obscured the moonlight, and the air was heavy with the smell of smoke and blood. The echo of gunfire and explosions had subsided for a moment, signaling the end of a brutal battle. The site of this fierce clash was none other than the small chapel where the villagers usually came to pray.
The once peaceful and serene chapel was now in ruins, littered with corpses. Some wore strange white robes, while others were dressed as clergy and nuns. Blood flowed freely, soaking into the soil.
The chapel’s fences were shattered, tombstones smashed, and walls riddled with holes. Debris from broken stones was scattered across the ground, mingling with blood and bodies—a grim and brutal sight.
Inside the chapel, the charred and bullet-ridden body of a priest lay lifeless on the cold floor. Nearby, a pale, bloodied elderly man in white robes, barely clinging to life, was being propped up by two masked men in similar white attire.
“Lord Hafdan, we’ve succeeded. Those desecrators from Tivian have been annihilated. Our strategy of using hostages proved effective—Providence was on our side in this battle!” one of the masked men said, supporting the gravely injured elder.
“Good... very good... Their steward is dead... But I... I won’t last much longer... Still, it’s fine... In the end, our side survived...”
Blood trickled from his lips as he struggled to breathe, using his remaining strength to speak.
“Take... take the desecrators’ relics back... The Radiance is eternal with us... May the Savior lead us to ascension...”
With those words, the elder’s eyes widened, and his breathing ceased.
The two men called out to him.
“Lord Hafdan! Lord Hafdan!”
After a few attempts, they confirmed his death. Gently placing him on the ground, they slowly stood up, their movements stiff due to their injuries.
“Lord Hafdan has martyred himself, but our mission must continue. Let’s proceed.”
Exchanging a nod, the two masked men moved to a staircase at the edge of the chapel, descending into an underground chamber.
At the center of the chamber stood a massive stone coffin, its lid slightly ajar. The chamber itself was a small crypt, surrounded by smaller side rooms.
“Only the two of us remain. Let’s gather everything quickly and leave before anything else happens.”
The two men began scavenging items from the coffin and the smaller rooms. Unbeknownst to them, a frightened girl was hiding in one of the side rooms.
“That voice… It’s those heretics! What happened to Mr. Rodri and the others? Have they all been killed by these people?!”
In the corner of a side room, a young girl in a nun’s habit, with platinum-blonde hair and round glasses, clutched a book as she trembled. She appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen years old.
Her name was Vania Chafferon, a nun from the Historical Archives of Tivian’s Radiance Church. She was part of Bishop Dietrich’s relic recovery team.
A month ago, villagers repairing the chapel’s floor tiles accidentally discovered an underground chamber beneath the chapel. Upon exploring it, they found a crypt containing a massive stone coffin. The name inscribed on the coffin identified it as the resting place of Dietrich, a bishop martyred three centuries ago during Igwynt County’s heresy purges.
The local priest quickly reported this to the Igwynt Cathedral, which in turn informed the Tivian Diocese, the ecclesiastical center of the Pritt capital. A relic recovery team was dispatched, including Vania. However, just as they began their recovery work, heretics attacked.
The attackers were members of the Savior’s Advent Sect, a heretical sect of the Radiant Faith that denied the mainstream doctrine of the Trinity. They believed solely in the Radiant Savior and claimed the Savior never had three divine incarnations, leading to their condemnation as heretics by the Trinity. Although previously suppressed, they had recently resurged.
The sect aimed to seize Bishop Dietrich’s relics, launching a surprise attack on the recovery team. Despite their victory, it came at great cost—their high-level combatants were mostly killed, leaving only two wounded survivors.
The recovery team fared worse. Vania was the sole survivor.
As an Apprentice-rank "Lantern" Guider, Vania was a non-combatant. Her role in the Church was entirely clerical, focusing on studying scriptures and relics. She had no training for battle.
When the attack began, Vania, who was in the crypt extracting relics, instinctively fled into a side room, clutching a confidential scripture taken from the coffin. Praying for the team’s success, she was now faced with despair as she realized they had all perished.
“Holy Mother, have mercy. Please, make those heretics leave!”
Desperate, she prayed, but her pleas went unanswered. The sounds of the heretics ransacking the crypt grew louder, their crude methods breaking valuable relics.
“Stop! These are priceless relics!”
For a moment, anger flared within her, but she quickly suppressed it. Stepping out now would be suicidal.
“No, no, this isn’t the time to get angry. Holy Mother, Holy Son, Holy Father, Radiant Savior—save me!”
She prayed fervently to every divine figure she could think of, yet there was no response. Meanwhile, the noise drew closer, the heretics nearing her hiding spot.
Realizing her predicament, Vania clutched her Radiant Scripture, a bible she carried at all times, and began flipping through its pages in search of guidance.
“Gods, please give me a sign. What can save me...?”
Desperately praying, she turned to a random page—and then paused.
On the margin of the page, where there should have been nothing but blank space, a single word was unexpectedly inscribed.
It was written in Pritt Common.