The priest staggered to his feet, face pale and twisted in desperation.
"You took a vow!"
He cried, voice cracking.
"You were chosen! Without the god's grace, you're nothing. A cursed soul damned to rot! You think you'll find peace among humans who fear and hate you?"
The enforcer remained silent, staring at the blood on his blade. His jaw tightened, memories flashing behind his eyes—memories of pain, indoctrination, and being molded into a weapon for someone else's glory.
"You owe your life to the god! He saved you from the streets. He gave you strength, purpose, power. And you think this stranger can give you salvation instead?"
The priest insisted.
Kyle stepped forward, placing himself between the priest and the enforcer.
"He doesn't owe the divine anything. Especially not servitude for the rest of his life. If power means nothing but shackles, it's better to live without it."
He said flatly.
