Canta sniffs the air. Something smells weird.

The tall yellow wheat-fields which seem to stretch on forever and ever, like the water of the boundless ocean that they had seen weeks before, billows from here to as far as Canta can see. The haze of the autumn sunshine covers the canvas of the world, which almost appears to be painted entirely out of two warm colors. Gold from the wheat and ruby-red from the sun.

It’s peaceful here and that peaceful sensation stretches from here where they stand, all the way to the crimson horizon.

They had been walking, continuing their ‘adventuring’ like this through the back-lands for a while now. The two of them found a little town to stay in after a few more days of wandering, some kind of farming settlement. Honestly, Canta hasn’t even been keeping track of the days anymore. What he has been keeping track of however, is their amassing money. Alleluia’s bag is getting pretty full. He’s sure that they’ve wiped out an entire tribe of goblins at this point. He’d feel bad about it, but it’s not like they’re actively going out of their way to look for creatures to kill, the goblins are coming to them. It’s like they’re going out of their way to be killed.

Not that he minds. This is how they’re financing their lodging and his food after all, though they could save money if he just eats the goblins. But after a week of just goblins, he got pretty sick of them.

Thankfully, it hasn’t rained either. The weather in this region seems to be very lazy and calm, much like the atmosphere of this odd, forgotten section of the world. It almost feels like a place that people shouldn’t be in at all. He has the odd feeling of being an animal that has escaped from a circus, in a sense.

Something lunges out of the wheat, its clawed hands reaching for him. Before a single, gnarly, goblin finger touches him, his knife already finds itself stuck in the front of the creature’s throat. He twists, the goblin falls down, clutches its throat and it dies.

“Another one,” he sighs, bending down to loot it with tired eyes. He’s gotten really good at killing goblins. In these weeks, he’s learned more about fighting than ever before.

“They really like you, sunflower,” says Alleluia.

For some reason, the goblins have been going out of their way to target him specifically. They don’t even seem to care about Alleluia, more often than not.

(Canta) found: [{3} Obols] !

“That should be enough for today,” says Canta, rising back to his feet and shaking off his blood covered hands. This was their tenth goblin for the day. “Let’s go home,” he says.

“Are you gonna be okay there?” she asks, turning around to go back.

Canta nods. “It should be fine,” he says. “They aren’t that bad.”

“Maybe you should just eat their sins?” suggests Alleluia, bending down to let him put the coins into the bag. He does exactly that, taking a moment to pinch her while he’s in the area. She yelps in surprise, jumping up and shooting him a glare as he starts walking back to the town.

“It’s fine. They only have tiny sins, there’s not much evil to do around here, you know?”

“Maybe you should though,” says Alleluia. “You’ve only eaten real food for weeks now. What if it’s bad for you? To not eat any sins?”

“I’ll be fin- OW!” he yelps, as she pinches him in the same spot as he had done to her. “That’s gonna bruise,” he mutters, rubbing himself. Their relationship has gotten more ‘handsy’ this last week. He’s not really sure why.

“Exactly,” says Alleluia. “You aren’t healing as fast anymore. What if we have an emergency?”

Canta stares at her, shaking his head without saying anything else as they make their way back. She might have a point, in all honesty. He’s been living off of bread and goblin meat for weeks now without so much as a taste of a sin. But he wants to keep a low profile until things have cooled down a little, so that they can move on and collect more information. Nobody in the town knew about his class and given the secluded nature of the place, nobody really cared to ask. It was perfect.

“It’s fine. Let’s just hang around another week,” he suggests. “We’ll live a quiet life on the farm. Kill a few goblins, have a few kids, retire and then die, letting our bodies return to the wheat.”

She turns her head towards him. “I don’t know if we can do all of those things in just a week, wiggly-worm.”

“Eh… we’ll just cut some corners here and there. Everything will work itself out.”

“If you say so,” chimes Alleluia.

“I do,” says Canta.

The village is quaint, if nothing else. It’s made up of a total of six farm-houses, a barn and a bar. Canta isn’t sure why they had the last one, seeing as there are a total of twelve people here, themselves included. But hey, maybe that’s exactly why. He doesn’t drink anymore though.

“Hey, Paw!” chimes Alleluia, waving to the old man as they come back into town. ‘Paw’ isn’t his name. She’s just referring to him with the country-version of ‘papa’. Canta rolls his eyes. She’s taken to the country-life a little too well, he feels. Probably because of those books that she’s found here.

The man, ‘Paw’, sits there, his feet kicked up on a barrel, his face covered in a tipped down straw-hat. All that he’s missing is a piece of wheat in his mouth and he’d be the perfect picture of a country-bumpkin in Canta’s eyes. Then again, he feels like he envies the man. If Alleluia had taken to country-life, then this man was the divine, heavenly chosen of the country-life. The hero of the wheat-fields.

All he does is sit there, his feet kicked up with a bottle of hooch down at his side. “Get any varmints?” asks the man, lifting his head.

Canta opens his mouth, but not to speak. Rather, just to mouth the answer that he knows is going to come from Alleluia in three… two…

“We got goblins!” jokes Alleluia, giving the old man a couple of coins as they walk past him. Money for their stay. The man tips his hat. This ritual has repeated itself every day since their first hunt. Not that he minds. Having some social interactions with ‘normal’ people seems to be pretty good for her. Ever since they left the church, they hadn’t had any ‘incidents’ with her behavior. Maybe she’s grown up a bit too. He’s really glad about that. He was really teetering on the edge about their relationship for a while back there and for good reason. Though, maybe he’s just an over-sensitive mess himself. It’s hard to say, really.

The two of them head back home. Canta sniffs the air again, noticing an odd scent. Alleluia tells him that it’s just the country-air and he believes it. Alleluia spends the night reading and Canta starts his workout routine. He’s been working hard on his physical attributes.

“You gotta eat some sins again eventually, busy-bee.” Canta ignores her, doing some more sit-ups. “You can’t get experience like that,” she says. Canta knows that she’s right. But he has, in truth, been avoiding eating sins. Ever since Oriol, the man with the hat, and the chain-reaction that happened after that, he’s had… a distaste for it. Or maybe a trauma, Canta isn’t sure. So, he does what any other clearly mentally healthy man would do, more sit-ups.

The next day comes. More goblins.

“Hey, Paw!” waves Alleluia. The man tips his hat and takes the coins.

Alleluia reads. Canta does push-ups today.

The next day comes. More goblins.

“Hey, Paw!” waves Alleluia. The man tips his hat. Alleluia wants to learn to write. Canta goes for a jog and helps her afterwards as best as he can. She makes him write embarrassing things, but in turn, he makes her do the same.

The next day comes. It’s a goblin massacre. Hundreds are dead. Women, children, everything that is green in their vicinity dies. This was a lot. Too much even. Canta feels unwell, looking at the sight. They had been attacked and handled themselves like champions in their defense. But still…

There’s no more golden wheat left to see. It’s all red and it shimmers so oddly underneath the afternoon sunlight. He turns his head, looking from side to side. It’s all red and fleshy.

The man tips his hat.

“Hey, Paw!” waves Alleluia, a bit of sinew still dangling from her wrist. Canta didn’t have the mind for it just yet. He’ll clean her out in a minute. Something smells like fire. The man tips his hat.

Goblins. Paw. Workout. Sleep.

They kill a dozen goblins the next day. The man tips his hat.

Another day comes. Canta tries to progress towards handstand push-ups. The man tips his hat.

Another day comes. Goblins. The man tips his hat.

Another day comes. Canta runs. A goblin charges towards him. He tears into it and eats it alive while it screams. He eats its eyes. He doesn’t loot it.

Another day comes. The man tips his hat.

Canta sleeps. Something smells wrong.

The man tips his hat.

Canta shoots up out of bed, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his forehead, his heart racing painfully in his breast as his hand clutches over it.

The man… the man… the man… Canta can’t breathe. His frantic eyes scan the dark bedroom as he flops out of the bed, crawling across the wooden floor. He feels weak, lethargic, like he’s dying. The man tips his hat. Flies swarm out of his mouth.

Canta wakes up again.

He’s still in his bed. That waking up a second ago was just another layer of a double-dream again. Some odd nightmare. His hand clutches his chest once more, he looks out of the window of their bedroom and sees the silhouette of Oriol. The man tips his hat.

Canta wakes up again. That was also just another layer of the dream. Hovering above him is a looming shadow with long claws extended out for his throat. The man tips his hat.

Canta wakes up again. The room is filled with smoldering bodies. The man tips his hat.

Canta wakes up again, he’s crying. The room stinks. Alleluia rushes over, setting down her book to console him. But he doesn’t need her to. The moment she rises to her feet, the moment that her movements fail to make noise as she approaches, he realizes that this is still the never-ending dream. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” he screams as the looming light-less shadow approaches him. Time is frozen.

The man tips his hat.

Canta falls out of the bed onto his hands and knees. This time, for real as he thuds against the ground. Sweat mixes in with the bitter tears streaming down his face as he struggles to breath, as his heart struggles to keep up the pace. His senses are overwhelmed, his eyes, his ears, it’s like he’s entirely unable to focus on anything at all. He’s so hungry. He’s too hungry and all the while, there’s that smell.

That disgusting smell.

Alleluia doesn’t come to console him. Canta rises to his feet, looking around the room.

Bodies lay everywhere, flies buzz through the air. For a brief moment, he thinks that the many bodies sharing the room with him are still alive, given their movements. But as he examines the first one, he realizes that they’re simply full to the brim with maggots. The corpses are full with so many maggots that from a few steps away, he thought their chests were heaving with breath, that their fingers were moving. But it’s all just maggots.

The smell of fetid decay is overpowering, but not enough to remove the other smell that taints the air. The smell of a heavy, cardinal sin.

“Alleluia!” calls Canta, looking around desperately for her. She’s nowhere to be seen. He runs to the door, sparing only a single glance down at the corpse that lays there against the wall. A straw-hat covers the man’s mangled, sore-covered, rotting face.