Rafferty hesitated. He held his sword tightly. The so-called demon worshippers he’d gone to aid in the purging of looked far more like everyday citizens than some great evil. Was what they were doing here truly right?

He was jolted from his doubts at the sight of a charging enemy—a mere villager, armed with a scythe likely used for harvesting grain. Raff raised his sword, prepared to act.

“Drop your weapon,” he ordered, his voice stern, “or you’ll face the same fate as any other heretic.”