Author's note: it is highly unusual for a god to descend to the mortal realm.

They left the noisy guard station and walked along the road farther away from the main road, the Guilds, and the Knight's Order. The road curved, a ring around the hill on which Cordova was built, the Royal Castle looming over them in the night, until they reached the Divine District. Most of the temples were dark, and so James didn't get a good look, but the Aspirant Knight walked with confidence and led them to a small, but immaculately constructed and decorated temple. A paved stone path led to the temple entrance, and just inside was a bored-looking young man wearing white robes, who perked up a bit when he saw them.

"Ah, welcome to the Temple of Pacifica, Goddess of Peace. How can I help you tonight?"

The Knight dipped his head respectfully. "Good evening, I am Knight Suero Paulo Cortez de Figueroa de la Iberteria, and I have brought my retainer here to receive Pacifica's Blessing and Protection." He gestured towards James, who stiffened.

The attendant looked James up and down. "Hmm, and yet he comes bearing the marks of violence."

"Yes, a sign of my own negligence and incompetence, to allow my retainer to come to harm. Though I did not choose the path of peace, I would beg the goddess' favor not for myself, but for one for whom I am responsible."

The Knight pulled out a large silver coin, and passed it to the attendant. The attendant, who had been looking critically at James, suddenly brightened and smiled as he pocketed the money.

"The temple looks most kindly on your donation, sir Knight. Indeed, it speaks well to your character that you would support those on the path of peace, despite not being on it yourself. I'm sure you are a credit to your order."

James noticed the Steward clench his jaw, but the Knight's face was perfectly composed.

"How kind of you. The matter is somewhat pressing, however, so would it be possible to speak with the Priest of the Night immediately?"

"Yes, that should be fine. In the meantime, may I offer succor to your retainer, and ease his burdens?"

James recoiled and the Steward whispered, "He means healing!"

The Knight merely raised an eyebrow, then jerked his head, indicating James should step forward.

"We would be most obliged, your grace."

The attendant smiled and waved a hand. "Oh no, I'm merely an apprentice still. But I would welcome the chance to practice my healing magic." He stepped forward and raised his hands over James' head, and they glowed with a white light.

Unlike in the past, when the slaver with healing magic had healed him, James now had a much more refined sensitivity to mana and essence. He could feel how the mana the man naturally possessed was refined, almost instantaneously, into something similar, close to lux essence, and then woven into the fabric of reality. It was a different sensation than his enchantments, which weighed on reality like a hammer placed on a pile of blankets, and then before he could understand more, it was over. The cut on his forehead was healed, as were most of his bruises, and his eye was now merely tender rather than swollen shut.

The attendant breathed heavily, and a sheen of sweat was visible on his brow. "My… apologies," he gasped. "My skill with healing magic was… insufficient… for full treatment."

The Knight looked at James. "How do you feel, Smith?"

James nodded. "Much better, m'lord."

The attendant was handed another large silver coin, and James could hear the grinding of the Steward's teeth, and then they were led deeper inside the temple.

James had, by this point, been in larger buildings, but this was certainly the largest room he had been in so far. Particularly in height. The ceiling soared above them, dozens of yards high, supported by thick stone pillars carved and decorated with paintings and statues. There were little alcoves set into the outer walls, some dark, but some not. One alcove was entirely obscured behind privacy screens and hanging curtains, though there were clearly some people in there doing… something.

Rows and rows of benches filled the center of the room, and at the far end was a raised podium upon which stood a marble altar, beautiful in its precision and simplicity if not its decoration.

They arrived, and a priest wearing white robes tied at the waist with a length of black rope, and wearing a brilliant gold stole, came to greet them. The attendant explained, and the priest nodded. "Of course, we welcome any and all to join us on the path of peace." He turned to James directly, squinted a little as he noted his wounds, but continued. "And you, son, do you intend to forswear violence from today on?"

James hesitated. "Uh, what exactly does that mean?"

The priest explained. In exchange for swearing an oath to Pacifica not to engage in violence, he would receive Pacifica's Blessing, which warned all around that the one who swore the oath was under her protection and that violating that person would risk divine retribution. There was also a short cape he could wear, just covering the shoulders, that would signify this as well.

"Uh, I'm a Smith, though, and intend to make weapons. Is that a problem?"

The priest shook his head. "No, so long as you don't intend to use them yourself."

"James," the Knight said, "do you intend to fight anymore?" He looked the Smith straight in the eye. "I really think this is the best protection you can get. Those with combat classes can't get this divine blessing, and I've seen it even turn monsters away."

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The priest interjected, "The strength of the blessing depends on the adherents' faith and devotion. For instance, you may not realize it, young Smith, but combat classes are restricted in this area." The priest waved his hands as the Knight's eyes widened and the Steward clenched his fists.

"It's true…" the Steward whispered. The Knight's response was more subdued, and he regained control almost instantly. "Of course," he said after a moment, "as expected of the Goddess, to forbid combat classes within her domain."

The priest smiled and nodded.

Meanwhile, James was thinking.

He didn't like fighting. He didn't want to fight. But he couldn't forget his Brawler mother's wisdom. It was what had kept him alive so far. The determination to hit back, hit hard, and even strike first when necessary.

But had she known about Pacifica?

If she had known, would she have taken him to a temple, and tried to get him a Goddess' blessing?

James knew little of the gods. His parents had been of the view that mortals should solve their own problems without relying on supernatural beings. They didn't disrespect the gods, nor deny their existence—for that would be like trying to deny the sun's existence—but they generally lived as though the gods were uninterested in them, and handled things on their own.

James was of two minds. The one, unsure whether this was a good idea.

The other, remembering just hours ago being surrounded by a gang of young men and at their mercy. Just weeks ago, being trapped and dying in a Dungeon. Years ago, being abducted, beaten, whipped, and enslaved.

The Smith came down on the side of the goddess, in that moment.

Nothing good came of fighting. Only pain and suffering. He opened his mouth, and was interrupted, to his surprise, by the Steward.

"Smith," he said, "you should know that although Pacifica does offer her blessing, those who take it still rarely live beyond the age of forty. It is powerful, as all the gods' blessings are, but it is not perfect. Think carefully."

The Knight had a complicated expression on his face as he watched the Steward advise the Smith.

But James hardened his expression and firmed his resolve.

"Better to live to forty than die before twenty, no?"

The Smith turned to the priest. "I'll swear the oath."

The priest smiled. "Good, then I will prepare the ritual."

Then, as today, it was not an overly complicated ritual. A carved wooden totem, a branch from an olive tree, a braided rope, and the symbol of all the gods, in this case, drawn on paper with ink and brush, were arranged on the altar, and James repeated the oath as the priest directed.

And then She appeared in a blast of light and wind that pressed down on them physically.

The Knight and the Steward were forced onto both knees, foreheads pressed into the ground, while the priest and attendant took to one knee and bowed their heads willingly.

James, dumbstruck, remained standing, as the Goddess Pacifica herself frowned down at him with an expression of anger and scorn.

"You… you of all people, would make a mockery of my oath? After you struck poor Brian and knocked him unconscious in a single blow? After you slaughtered hundreds of creatures in that Dungeon, including two blessed beasts? Not one, but two! And even just this night, you grievously wounded a fellow man! How dare you! You seek my blessing merely because you fear violence done unto you, and you happened not to choose one of the hateful combat Classes, but you certainly have no problem doling out violence to solve your problems regardless! It's even worse than those who permanently twist their souls and lose their way forever. The path is barred to them, but you stray from it willingly and repeatedly!

"Begone, and know that I will forever overlook you, and that violence will haunt you to the end of your days. You are marked, Smith and Enchanter James, son of…"

The goddess hesitated and then grew even more furious.

"Son of two Brawlers," she spat, and turned, and James was thenafter out of her sight.

The goddess next turned to the Knight.

"Aspirant Knight," she said, naming him forevermore, "though you turned from my path, and use violence to settle some disputes, I see that you also are not averse to the ways of peace, and I approve of your actions to protect those for whom you take responsibility. Not only your direct retainers, but also the people of this Kingdom. It would please me if more who turned from my path took the charge of protection so seriously. I will grant you a minor boon: may you be blessed with good timing."

With another blast of light and wind and pressure, the Goddess ascended and vacated the temple.

The Smith blinked and found himself now standing on the stone path outside the temple. He stood there a moment, confused and in shock, and soon enough the Steward arrived, almost running from the temple interior. "Smith!" he called. "Good. Come with me, and stay close." The Steward gripped the Smith's shoulder and guided him back to the road, further away from Pacifica's temple.

The Smith found his voice. "Does," he stammered, "does that happen often?"

The Steward stopped and turned to face him directly. "No, no it doesn't. The gods almost never descend to the mortal realm. Usually only when gravely insulted."

"Am… am I cursed, then?" James was particularly worried that he had just made his life even harder than it already was. But the Steward shook his head.

"No, she would have declared you cursed, and you would know it."

Soon enough the Aspirant Knight left the temple and joined them in the street, a pensive frown on his face.

"That was… entirely beyond what I could have imagined." He looked back and forth between the Smith and the Steward several times, then sighed heavily.

"Sebastian, take James back to Headquarters. I'll return to the guard station and look further into this business with the Flores boy. In the morning, you'll both join me in the gymnasium to discuss James' security going forward."

"But sir, that time is…"

"It's fine," the Knight insisted, "it's the only time I'll have to discuss anything tomorrow, and this matter cannot be delayed any later than that. And, Sebastian?"

"Yes, my lord."

"James' security is my top priority from now on until further notice, understood?"

The Steward grimaced, then nodded. "Yes, my lord."

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