Girl Who Killed a God Remake - Chapter Thirteen

Before Grace could respond, she blinked and the seat on the bench next to her was empty. She glanced around the courtyard in vain, knowing the god had vanished. And left her with a rather monumental task ahead of her.

Justiciars… Azaroth wants me to slaughter an entire squad of Justiciars…

Grimdon’s faithful. Loyal only to Count Toran and his preferred god of worship. They were the stuff of nightmares and dozens of Malkins died to their “Investigations” every month. Even Toran’s own citizens weren’t completely spared the wrath of the fists of judgement.

And she was supposed to kill five of them by herself.

A few weeks ago, such an idea would have left her practically shitting herself in fear. But now, with the advent of the system, and her pseudo ascension to Divine Human, Grace stared at the screen in front of her—not with fear or apprehension—but anticipation.

She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she read the words displayed on the screen once more and smiled.

“Well, I’d best get to work.”

Grace didn’t waste any time. After making sure Levi was in good hands, she made her excuses and headed out. She only stopped long enough at one of her safe houses to pick up the shortsword she’d stolen before this all began and her leather coat. It was too warm for such layers, but it had the pockets she needed for her pilfered health potions, not to mention the length she needed to disguise the sword now strapped to her spine in a modified sheath.

It'd have been a bitch to retrieve had Grace been merely mortal, but now, with her enhanced abilities, she could draw it just as quickly as if it were belted to her waist. After tucking a dagger in a scout sheath to her lower back, she tied her hair back and headed out for yet another day of premeditated murder.

True to the gods words, there was a stirring in her chest as she set out on her hunt. Something tugged at her heartstrings, guiding her forward like an unseen puppeteer. For more than an hour, she followed the sensation through the side streets and back alleys of Lowtown. Every thug and lowlife who called the place home took one look at her and glanced away. A few even crossed to the other side of the road or ducked into darkened buildings.

Some eyed her with glints of recognition and nodded to her as he passed. Max’s words were the truth it seemed, and people were talking about her, and what she’d done. As for the others, it was a skill of predators to sense others of their kind, and for the first time in her life, Grace practically radiated danger.

She was a predator and there was blood in the water.

No one wanted to be the first she took a bite out of.

As she passed a big bruiser of a man whose face looked like he’d smashed it into a brick wall, visibly flinched as she met his gaze. Grace bit her cheek to keep from laughing as a euphoria she’d never known rushed through her. For so long, she’d been prey to anyone stronger than her. But now, everyone else was prey to her.

It was a damned addictive feeling.

Even if she was Azaroth’s villain, she couldn’t find it in herself to mind that appellation. It fit like a glove after all. She wasn’t good. Maybe never had been. She’d played pretend for so long she forgot it was a mask. But now she was free to be herself and had the strength to protect herself. Even if she was a monster or a devil, she didn’t regret shackling herself to the god of the abyss. It gave her freedom in every aspect of her life that she’d been a prisoner of her entire life. All she had to do was follow the god’s demands. And in return, she was granted even more power.

It was a chain, yes, but one crafted of platinum and encrusted with diamonds.

And it would be used to pull her into godhood.

Once she was a god, she could break the chain, and then, she would have more power than she could possibly dream of. That was worth almost any price. And even if it meant pledging herself to a vindictive god, she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Grace had never been much for religion, but Azaroth was the perfect god for her to follow.

And she followed her god all over Toran until the sensation in her chest grew. Grace knew she was close, and the tug brought only a few streets away from Baraxan Square and the markets of Midtown. Close to where this all had begun. It led her towards the residential district. As she stepped onto the well paved cobblestone street, a house close to the entrance caught her attention. It was several stories tall, and elegant in its simpleness.

It looked like something a well-to-do merchant or scrivener would own. However it was clearly under renovations there was fresh lumber stacked in the small plot of grass in front of it. Tools and carpenters work benches were arrayed along what little green was visible.

Though as Grace got close, she smelled the familiar rot of death creeping out like fog from inside.

She knew what she was going to walk into before she ever stepped up to the threshold. The door was in splinters, hanging listlessly from its hinges as if it had been kicked open. The stench only grew as she placed a hand on the frame and peered inside.

Corpses lay scattered across the half-finished sitting room. Blood was splattered in thin arcs across the walls and canvas covered furniture. A sophisticated painting of a forest had drops of crimson cascading down it like a downpour of blood. It pooled in puddles around the pieces of people that looked like someone had torn them apart with their bare hands. In fact, several bare hands lay in slowly congealing pools of their own blood alongside the ocean of gore. From the largest masses of dead flesh, Grace counted at least five dead bodies in this room alone.

And as she finished scanning the room in a very clinical fashion, she found the heads of the Toran guards had been severed and piled atop one another in the corner like a pyramid.

For some macabre reason Grace really wanted to throw something at them and see if she could knock them all down. That incredibly disturbing thought sent her into a small fit of giggles that soon had her laughing quietly to herself and wondered what even was her life anymore.

 After she composed herself, she started working through her plan to lure a squad of Justicar’s here.

Miles is dead… but no one other than me knows I had anything to do with their deaths. I could play that angle… pretend I helped Miles and his squad. He even gave me the passphrase to use when I needed to reach him. I can go up to the nearest guard station and ask to see Miles. Play up that I have no idea what happened to him. After all, no one would expect the person who killed him to ask to see him.

With how many dead guards have dropped in the last week alone, no way this hasn’t garnered the attention of the count. Another report of a dead patrol is more than enough to get the Justicar’s involved.

All Grace had to do was play the idiot scavenger girl who wanted to help in exchange for a little bit of coin. She would play the exact part they expected of her, and just like Sergent Miles, they wouldn’t know just how deadly a mistake that was until it was already too late.

It had already worked once, no reason for her to think it wouldn’t work again.

Even if the Justicar’s are the city’s inquisitors, they shouldn’t suspect me. Not until their last moments.

It was the best plan she had on short notice, so it was the one she was going with.

Careful of her footing on the blood slick floorboards, Grace backed out of the house and took off toward one of the guardhouses near the markets. Half an hour later, Grace was on her hands and knees, panting in front of a very confused corporal in worn chainmail.

“I need to see Sergeant Miles!” Grace said at once.

The guard, who had been trying to ignore her, raised his eyebrows at those words. “Say that again?”

“I need to see Sergeant Miles! Tell him the cat is barking!”

The guard frowned, his deeply tanned face wrinkling at his eyes and mouth as his lips drew into a hard line. “Shite.” The corporal glanced back at the guard house and let out a deep sigh before turning back to her. “Look… uh, the sergeant is… he’s not in today, I’m afraid,” he said, obviously trying to cover up the fact that Miles was dead. “But if the cat is barking, then there’s someone here who would like to talk to you. Will you wait here while I go get them?”

Grace nodded and the guard took off towards the guardhouse.

Standing there, Grace waited patiently for the guard to return. In mere moments, there was muffled shouting from within the guardhouse. Even with her newly improved hearing, she couldn’t make it out. However, not a minute after the shouting stopped, two guards in leather armor bolted out of the barracks and took off in different directions. Another minute passed before the guard she’d talked to came running back, breathing hard from the exertion she guessed he wasn’t used to.

“Wait here! He will be here soon!”

Grace nodded as the man took a few more deep breaths.

That was like fifty yards… how out of shape are these guys?

Trying not to smile, Grace turned towards the markets to people watch to pass the time. Citizens and merchants were bustling around all over, working and trading. Something she’d never really paid attention now stood out to her like a signal flare. Dozens upon dozens of the populace had small red lion insignias on armbands or stitched into some part of their clothes. A few carts even had them etched into the wood.

This is Grimdon’s town.

Count Toran may control the city, but Grimdon controlled the hearts and minds of the citizens. With the Justiciar’s acting as the bridge between them. It hadn’t been like that in Cressida. Her people had never really cared about the church or their gods. They mostly ignored the zealots and simply enjoyed the holidays because of the celebrations.

Here, however, their faith was everything. Each person proudly wore it for all to see.

Oh, how the world might be better off without the gods and the games they play… at the very least, it would be one less reason for hate.

Lost in her thoughts, Grace continued to watch as the people of the markets, though she was brought out of her daydreaming as the door to the guardhouse opened, and heavy footsteps clamored her way.

Turning to meet them, she found a rather striking young man with gilded hair and sapphire blue eyes striding toward her. He was outfitted in a gleaming set of plate mail, with a crimson cape emblazoned with Grimdon’s crest.

The man looked more like a princeling rather than one of the Justiciars.

And clearly, looks could be deceiving because he was nothing like the fanatical zealots she was picturing in her mind.

He slowed to a stop a few feet from her, and his posture appeared to be relaxed, his hands rested loosely at his sides. Yet there was something about the man that set alarm bells off in her head. To her enhanced sight, it was like the man was a coiled spring, just waiting to unleash.

He’s dangerous… far more than any I’ve faced thus far. I’ll have to be careful with this one. There can be no hesitation in my words or actions. I’m going to have to really sell this… He’ll see through any halfhearted lie I come up with.

“I understand you wished to see Guard Sergeant Miles, is that correct?” he asked, in a tone that was as smooth as velvet.

She nodded and bowed slightly. “Yes, milord, that’s right.”

His lips drew into a hard line as the sapphires in his eyes chipped with suspicion. “And this is concerning the recent deaths in Lowtown?”

Alright, showtime…

Grace nodded once more. “Yes, milord. I… I helped him… before. Ever since coming to the city, I’ve had to scavenge to get by. While I’m searching the city, I sometimes hear things, sometimes see things. Things I shouldn’t.” Grace steeped herself into her performance and pulled on a thread of real fear from within before lacing it into her every word. “A few days ago, I found a truly horrible sight, milord, oh, it was terrible.” Grace dropped her eyes and shuddered, letting an actual chill crawl up her spine. “I—I didn’t want to say anything. I was scared whoever did it might come for me, but when Miles—sorry, milord, Sergeant Miles—came to investigate, I couldn’t just stand back without saying anything.”

Grace didn’t dare peek up to see if the knight was buying her story. Any movement that conflicted with her words would likely be caught immediately. So, she did what she had to, and forced a few crocodile tears out as a hacked sob rose in her throat.

I should get a skivving medal for this performance…

Taking a second to ‘get herself under control’ Grace sniffed and wiped her eyes, before finally daring the meet the man’s gaze. His face was unreadable, and even with her new abilities, she wasn’t sure if the man had bought her story.

Dammit, for how useless I thought it was, I really wish I had Persuade right about now…

Though she wouldn’t trade out any of her skills for it. Worse case, the knight didn’t believe her, and she killed him and any of the other witnesses and simply tried again the next day.

But after a moment, the knight let out a breath and relaxed just a hair. It was so subtle that Grace knew she’d have never seen it without the increase to her stats, yet it was there, clear as a crisp spring morning.

She had to fight back a smile as she continued playing the scared little girl. It seemed even Justiciar’s trained in enhanced interrogation whose entire job was seeing through lies, could be fooled by their preconceived notions of what something should appear to be. Grace played the part of the Malkin refugee scavenger, a part so close to the truth, it was as easy as breathing to keep up the act.

She gave him everything he expected from her, and did nothing to contradict it.

And it appeared that was enough.

Of course, only if he wasn’t running a game on her as well. Which was possible, but unlikely. So, Grace would keep her guard up, play her part, and keep an eye out for any hint of deception from the Justiciar.

A moment after he relaxed, the man spoke, “I’m afraid that Guard Sergeant Miles was killed in the line of duty yesterday afternoon.”

And there it is—the trap.

Grace worked very hard to keep her face from giving anything away as she let her eyes go wide with false shock and gasped, taking a half step back. “What?! But how? I just saw him!”

“He—along with his entire squad—were slaughtered as they investigated the scene of the crime.” The Justiciar stared her down. “You say you’re good at seeing and hearing things, well do you know anything that might shed some light on what happened?”

Grace shook her head furiously. “No, milord. I showed Sergeant Miles the house, and he thanked me and gave me a few silver for my help. He said he and his men were going to stay and investigate it for any clues or leads, and that I should get back home and away from the scene. That was the last thing he said to me, and I did as he said.”

“It was likely a trap,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes for a moment. “The killer probably staked out the location and waited for someone to bring a patrol to the crime scene.” He then looked at her and frowned. “And you’re here because you found another scene?”

She nodded and grimaced. “It’s even worse than before and closer to Midtown than the one I found.” Grace huffed and shook her head. “I wanted nothing more than to never see such sights again, so I strayed much further from my usual spots, hoping to keep away from the killer and his butchering...”

It would be odd for a random person to just happen to stumble upon two crime scenes the way she did. Grace only hoped her backstory as a scavenger gave enough credence to the lie to avoid any additional scrutiny from the Justiciar. After all, scavengers roamed the city all the time.

It wasn’t impossible for her to have happened across them.

“Alright,” the man said after a moment. “If it’s worse than the previous scene, then it’s likely not a trap—I doubt a killer this skilled would ever expect the same trick to work twice. It’s likely a message. One I want to see for myself.”

He turned to Grace and nodded. “I’m Knight Lieutenant Robard of the Toran Justiciars. Lead me and my men to the scene. We’ll investigate it and then report. I’m tired of only reading about it secondhand.” Robard reached under his gorget for a thin leather cord. Attached to it was a small coin purse. He jangled it and nodded to her. “Help us again, and I’ll ensure you’re rewarded for your efforts.”

Grace nodded.

Robards sapphire eyes seemed alive with anger. “Good. Let me gather my men. We’ll leave within the hour.”