Alpha Instinct-Chapter 116: "The Saint’s Bluff"

They froze. Kaleb's forced casualness evaporated instantly, replaced by wide-eyed panic. Mikaela felt her blood run cold but forced her muscles to relax, turning slowly to face the guard. She managed a tight, strained smile—a "yellow smile," barely masking her apprehension.

"Is there... a problem, Officer?" she asked, her voice remarkably steady despite the pounding in her chest.

The guard with the scar didn't answer immediately, his sharp eyes scrutinizing her face, recognition flickering within them. Two more Royal Guards approached, flanking the first, their expressions hard and professional.

"State your names and business," one of the newcomers demanded, his gaze sweeping over Mikaela, Kaleb, and finally resting suspiciously on Leonard's unconscious form. "And who's he? Looks like he's seen better days."

"I am Mikaela," she replied, keeping her voice even and respectful, "a Paladin serving the Goddess of Light." She gestured towards Leonard. "My companion here is gravely ill. We were ambushed on the road some days back. He requires urgent care at the Church infirmary within Gothia."

The scarred guard narrowed his eyes. "Ambushed? Where? There have been no reports of major incidents near Gothia recently. And where are you traveling from?" He leaned closer. "We're checking all travelers. Papers?"

Mikaela met his gaze, trying to project calm authority. "We came from the east, beyond the settled lands. As for papers... Paladins on holy missions often travel lightly, relying on the Goddess's protection and the goodwill of citizens."

The guard snorted softly, clearly unconvinced. "Holy mission, eh? Convenient." He stepped closer, peering intently at Mikaela's face beneath the hood. "Still... that armor... that bearing... I know I've seen you..." His eyes suddenly widened, the suspicion replaced by dawning, utter disbelief. "Wait... Mikaela? The Mikaela? By the Goddess... The Sword Saint?"

The shift was instantaneous. The guard straightened up abruptly, his hard expression melting away into one of awe and respect. He even took a half-step back, almost bowing. The other two guards exchanged wide-eyed glances, their professional demeanor crumbling.

"Saint Mikaela!" the scarred guard stammered, his tone completely transformed. "Forgive me! My apologies! I... I didn't recognize you under the hood! We've heard tales, of course, but to see you..." He gestured vaguely, flustered. "Of course, proceed! Is... is your companion's condition critical? Do you require an escort to the Church? We can clear the way!"

Kaleb stared, dumbfounded, as the guards who were moments away from detaining them were now practically tripping over themselves to be helpful. Sword Saint? Since when? he thought, utterly bewildered.

Mikaela offered a polite, grateful smile, shaking her head gently. "Thank you for your concern, truly, but we require no escort. The Church is prepared for our arrival. We mustn't delay."

But the guards, clearly thrilled by the presence of the legendary Sword Saint, weren't easily dissuaded. "Are you certain, Saint Mikaela?" the scarred guard persisted, gesturing to his men. "It would be no trouble! An honor, in fact, to ensure your safe passage!" Another guard chimed in, "Yes! We can clear the road instantly!"

Mikaela's smile tightened, her voice gaining a firmer edge. "Your offer is generous, but unnecessary. We must proceed alone. Now, if you'll excuse us..." She made a slight move to urge her horse forward.

Her overly firm refusal, a stark contrast to her usually gentle demeanor, immediately rekindled the guards' suspicion. The scarred guard's eyes narrowed again, his gaze shifting from Mikaela to the still-unconscious form draped over her horse. Why the sudden secrecy about him?

"Saint Mikaela," the guard said, his tone hardening slightly, losing its earlier deference, "forgive my insistence, but procedures must be followed. Who is the man you transport with such... urgency?"

Kaleb quickly jumped in, adopting a panicked tone. "He's dying, man! Seriously! We need to get him to the Church now! Every second you guys keep us here chitchatting is another second closer to..." He trailed off dramatically, waving his hands vaguely.

The scarred guard remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on Leonard. The tension thickened, palpable in the air. He took a step closer to Mikaela's horse, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I need to see his face, Saint Mikaela." His voice was calm, but it held an unmistakable note of command. Not a request.

Mikaela and Kaleb exchanged a panicked glance. Their hearts hammered against their ribs. Revealing Leonard's face here, now, was unthinkable.

Mikaela took a slow breath, forcing herself to appear composed, though her mind raced. She met the guard's stare, adopting an air of slight exasperation mixed with weary authority. "Officer," she began, her voice low and confidential, "this is a... delicate matter entrusted to me by the Church, requiring the utmost discretion."

She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice further. "This young man... he is the son of a prominent noble house." She didn't name the house, leaving it vague. "There was an... unfortunate incident. An illness that must be kept quiet to avoid... considerable scandal." She gestured vaguely toward Leonard. "His family wishes his treatment to be handled privately by the Church healers. My mission is to transport him discreetly. Your commendable diligence," she added, a hint of steel beneath the polite words, "while appreciated, is currently jeopardizing the confidentiality of my task and potentially causing further distress to a powerful family. Surely, you understand the need for subtlety in such affairs?"

Mikaela urged her horse forward, Kaleb scrambling to follow, relief washing over them. The scarred guard watched them go, his brow furrowed, then his eyes suddenly widened as a thought struck him.

"Wait!" he shouted, his voice sharp, halting them about thirty meters past the barrier. They turned back, hearts sinking. "Hold on a minute! If he's just sick... Saint Mikaela, you are the greatest healer of the Church of Light! Why would you need other healers in Gothia?! Show me his face! NOW!"

Mikaela froze. Caught. The lie had unraveled. Panic flared, but she suppressed it, forcing her mind into overdrive. There was only one way out of this—a desperate, dangerous gamble. She straightened in her saddle, letting her cloak fall back slightly. The gentle, worried Paladin vanished, replaced by an icy glare, a chillingly familiar echo of her Inquisitor persona—though this time, it was a calculated performance.

She raised her right hand high, palm open to the sky, her voice ringing out, laced with feigned righteous fury: "KALENDOR!"

A brilliant column of white light descended from the heavens with a crackle of energy, solidifying into the ornate, holy blade in her grasp. Kalendor hummed, radiating palpable power, bathing the checkpoint in its intimidating glow.

The guards flinched, shielding their eyes, stunned by the sudden display.

"How dare you impede the sacred work of the Goddess?!" Mikaela boomed, her voice amplified, echoing with borrowed authority. She pointed Kalendor towards the scarred guard, the blade's tip mere inches from his face. "Questioning a Saint on a holy mission? Hindering the deliverance of a suffering soul?"

"B-But, Saint Mikaela," the guard stammered, taking an involuntary step back, his earlier confidence shattered. "Procedure dictates..."

"Procedure?! Do you speak of mortal procedure when divine will is at work?!" Mikaela interrupted, advancing her horse slightly, forcing the guards back further. "This involves matters far beyond your meager understanding! Matters of noble houses, of secrets the Church itself guards! Do you truly wish to interfere? Do you wish the Goddess's wrath upon you? Upon your families?" Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "The Church has a long memory for those who obstruct its path. We find them. We purge them."

The guards trembled, exchanging terrified glances.

Mikaela pressed her advantage, her fiery gaze sweeping over them. "And you," she spat, pointing Kalendor at another guard, "daring to suspect me? What sins fester in your own hearts? What darkness do you hide that makes you so quick to cast judgment? Speak! Confess your failings now, before the Light consumes you!"

"N-No sins, Saint!" the guard stammered, falling to his knees. "Forgive us! We meant no disrespect! Please!"

The other guards quickly followed suit, bowing their heads, terrified.

Mikaela held the pose for another moment, letting the fear sink in, Kalendor radiating holy power. Then, slowly, she sheathed the blade, the light fading, though her expression remained cold and imperious. "See that you remember this lesson. The Goddess's work waits for no man."

Without another word, she turned her horse and rode away, Kaleb scrambling to follow, leaving the terrified guards kneeling in the road.

Mikaela didn't look back, keeping her horse at a steady, controlled pace until they were a safe distance from the checkpoint, Kaleb riding close behind. Her heart still hammered, the adrenaline from the bluff slowly receding, replaced by icy dread.

As her horse trotted, Leonard's unconscious form shifted slightly. The movement jostled the hood covering his head, causing it to slip back just enough to reveal a glimpse of his face – his sharp features, the pale skin, the dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

The scarred guard, still watching them ride away, caught the brief movement out of the corner of his eye. He saw the face. Something clicked, a dissonant note in the story he'd been fed. That boy... he doesn't look like any noble scion I know... but there's something... familiar... Powerful, even unconscious... His instincts screamed that something was wrong, but the image didn't immediately connect. He frowned, shaking his head slightly, trying to dismiss the nagging feeling.

Mikaela and Kaleb continued riding, putting more distance between themselves and the Royal Guard. They were almost at the edge of Gothia's farmlands, nearly out of sight.

Then, it hit the guard. Like a bolt of lightning. The descriptions from the capital. The rumors spreading from the Guild. The timing of their arrival from the east, where reports of disturbances had surfaced. The Sword Saint acting strangely protective... The face!

"Wait!" the guard roared, his eyes snapping wide with sudden, absolute certainty. He spun around, facing his men. "That wasn't just some noble brat! That was him! Leonard!" He pointed frantically down the road where Mikaela and Kaleb were rapidly disappearing. "Get the horses! Mount up! AFTER THEM! NOW!"