The party had been following a trade road north when they heard a distant shouts.

  They climbed a nearby low rise and saw it.

  It was a small village, surrounded by a palisade, which was in turn surrounded by hastily erected barricades made of overturned carts and felled logs.

  A dozen rugged men, armed with mismatched blades and bows, stood on the palisade.

  They shouted at another group - also armed and armored - that gathered behind the ramshackle barriers below.

  When the party came closer, they could see that next to the men on the palisade knelt a group of villagers with their hands bound.

  The bandit leader - a thin man with a scar on his lip and a nasty serrated sword - shouted over the palisade:

  “Aure! And supplies!

  And you will let us go unhindered, without pursuit, all the way to the damn border!

  Otherwise, these poor folk...”

  He jerked a village girl up with a strong tug.

  His sword gently brushed her cheek, leaving a bleeding mark, as the tears streamed down the girl’s face.

  “...are gonna lose their heads.”

  A squad of guards and local adventurers faced the bandits across the makeshift barricades, with their weapons drawn but still.

  The guard commander, a grizzled man with a thick, bristling mustache, raised both hands.

  “We can talk terms. No one needs to die today.”

  Thrain looked sadly.

  “Them bandits got hostages.”

  Gorzod spit on the road.

  “Mongrels have no shame.”

  Erian looked panicked between the group, and the guards, and the bandits.

  Liora tsked loudly.

  But Fanática stopped.

  The nun listened briefly to the exchange of verbal promises between the two parties.

  Then, she tilted her head, and a look of utter confusion appeared on her face.

  “Why… are they negotiating with evil?

  Do they not understand that words will not cleanse sin?”

  The party exchanged quick glances.

  Gorzod laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “Lass, sometimes you bargain to save lives-”

  She shook him off gently.

  “The Goddess does not bargain with wickedness.”

  And before anyone could stop her, she strode forward - maul already in her hand, her robes billowing.

  The guards turned, startled.

  The bandits also raised their bows, alarmed.

  The commander, his guards, brigands, and the captured villagers - everyone turned to look at her.

  Her halo appeared, blinding both friends and foe - bright like the sun.

  Faná raised her voice. It was clear and carried far.

  “O Goddess of Unyielding Justice and the Breaking of Chains of Tyranny, behold these oppressors who hold the innocent in fear! Let Your light shatter their false stronghold!”

  And she brought the maul down in a mighty swing some 10 feet from the palisade.

  Neither bandits nor guards were prepared for what happened next.

  The part of palisade didn’t just splinter.

  It ceased to be.

  Golden light tore outward in a perfect arc.

  And wood vaporized into ash and motes.

  Bandits screamed, tumbling down as the shockwave hurled them backward.

  A few unlucky ones vanished silently in bursts of the holy light.

  Not burned in holy fire, but simply… gone.

  Then chaos followed.

  The remaining bandits panicked.

  Torches were flung. The granary caught fire first - dry thatch and stored grain erupting instantly in a roaring pillar of fire.

  More and more houses started to burn.

  Villagers screamed, scrambling free of their ropes as the bandits fled or fell.

  The party surged forward after the saintess.

  Gorzod roared, his axes whirling, cutting down two bandits mid-retreat.

  Liora’s arrows flew with precision, silently dropping bandits that tried to fight.

  Thrain swung his hammer with a mighty blow, and caved in the shield along with the man hiding behind it.

  Guards and adventurers also joined the fray, under the orders of the commander.

  Erian, seeing that the situation was more or less under control, chanted his spells and tried to contain the fire and to protect the villagers.

  Water and ice splashed on the fires - and over a few remaining bandits as well.

  Within fifteen minutes, the square was clear.

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  The last bandit dropped in surrender, whimpering, hands raised.

  Miraculously, no villagers died during the entire ordeal.

  But more than half the village burned down, and smoke still rose thickly and roofs smoldered.

  People rushed to extinguish the last fires.

  The granary was just a blackened skeleton.

  And many homes stood roofless, or half-collapsed.

  The guard commander, with a red face and mustache quivering, marched straight to Fanática.

  “You fool! We had them talking! We could have-”

  A subordinate whispered urgently in his ear.

  The commander paled. He looked again at the maul, still glowing with remnants of divine power.

  He finally saw the soft halo, slowly dimming.

  And the bright, serene smile.

  He swallowed.

  “…This will be duly reported.”

  He turned back.

  With quick orders, he called back the guards and ordered them to form up to march.

  The village elder, an old man with trembling hands and ash in his beard, walked to the commander.

  They spoke for a moment.

  The elder pleaded, but the commander shouted.

  “No! Ask that crazy…” he realized his voice was loud, briefly looking at Fana, and quickly lowered his voice,

  “...your damned saviours, or write a letter to your lord. I don’t care.”

  He gave a quick signal with a hand, and the gathered guards marched back in neat formation through the wide gaping hole in the palisade.

  They carried bloodied sacks with them - a proof that bandits had been defeated.

  Villagers gathered slowly.

  Some wept openly, others just stared in terror.

  One of the men began describing what he had seen, and soon an angry murmur spread among the gathered men and women.

  A dozen eyes were staring at Faná with anger.

  A woman, middle-aged, soot-streaked, stepped forward from the crowd.

  “How will we eat until the next harvest?

  Our grain is gone.

  Our homes has turned to ash.

  What have you done?”

  A man beside her said, voice shaking.

  “We were bargaining!

  They could leave with a handful of aure and some supplies.

  And now we have nothing! Nothing!”

  A young woman, holding a small crying child, said in a sad voice:

  “You have saved our lives... but you may have as well killed our children.”

  Gorzod stepped in front of Faná, his axes still wet with bandits’ blood.

  “Watch your tongues. We saved your miserable hides. Show some damn gratitude.”

  The crowd recoiled back, but the anger did not subside.

  If anything, it only grew.

  Faná placed a gentle hand on Gorzod’s broad back.

  He looked back at her, puzzled.

  She shook her head, sad.

  “No, my large friend.

  They are scared, let them speak freely.”

  She stepped forward, her halo dimming to a soft glow. She looked over the crowd's faces.

  “I am sorry for your loss.

  The Goddess abhors evil.

  And so I acted to end it.

  Even though the cost was… heavy.”

  Silence.

  A few villagers looked away.

  But others kept glaring at her.

  Some of the more desperate villagers started shouting again.

  Thrain walked to the village elder.

  The man looked at him, shock still visible on his weary, tear-streaked face.

  The dwarf pressed a folded letter into the elder’s palm.

  “A letter to the diocese.

  Send this with the next courier.

  They’ll probably send some relief - grain, maybe coins.

  If you want to blame someone, blame your bad luck that bandits found their way to take your village hostage.

  Not her.”

  The elder clutched the letter so hard the parchment crumpled slightly.

  The party turned to leave.

  Behind them, insults began to rise.

  Low at first, but growing with every step.

  “Fanatic!”

  “Golden curse!”

  “Leave us alone!”

  “Harbinger! Harbinger of Disaster!”

  Faná walked at the rear, head bowed.

  She did not look back.

  Gorzod muttered some curses under his breath.

  Liora, who was walking beside him, said nothing. She didn’t even bother to look at the village.

  Erian and Thrain walked away with heavy steps.

  When they passed the low rise, the dwarf stopped, and looked back.

  He could still see the villagers, gathered around the hole at the palisade wall.

  Men were hugging women, women were holding their children.

  The village elder looked at them, still clutching something in his fist, pressed against his chest.