Late that night in St. Lucia Village, everything lay under a heavy stillness.
Everyone was asleep, or rather, everyone pretended to be asleep. Doors were shut tight, windows dark, and even the animals were silent, as if the entire village were holding its breath.
On a small hillside not far from Bartolo's estate, Jacob crouched beneath an olive tree. From where he knelt, he could see the manor clearly.
The building itself was swallowed by darkness, with only one window still glowing with light. That light came from Bartolo's treasure room. The madman was still inside, guarding his gold like a beast watching over its hoard.
Jacob did not rush. He was a good hunter, and the most important trait of a good hunter was patience.
He quietly waited for a wind strong enough to carry fire.
About half an hour later, it finally came. A cool night breeze swept across the grass on the hillside.
Now.
Jacob rose to his feet without a sound. From inside his coat, he took out something wrapped in cloth: a small clay jar. Inside it was a white liquid he had bought from an alchemist in Florence.
This liquid was called "Greek fire."
Even when poured into the sea, it continued to burn. Water could not put it out. Sometimes, it only made the flames stronger.
Jacob secured the jar to the tip of an arrow, then reached over his shoulder and took down his hunting bow. It was the same bow he had used for years, the one that had brought down wild boar in the forests. Familiar. Reliable.
He then lit the jar. The flame caught instantly. He set the arrow on the string and drew back. The bow bent into a perfect arc, like a full moon carved from wood and tension. His arm did not tremble. It was steady as stone. His eyes narrowed to a thin line.
His target was the largest granary on Bartolo's estate, the one that held the most grain. There was a small vent window on the roof, barely visible in the dark.
Jacob held his breath.
Then he released.
Whoosh!
The arrow of judgment cut through the night sky. Like a small meteor, it flew straight through the vent window.
Jacob did not leave right away. Instead, he crouched low and kept watching.
One second.
Two seconds.
Ten seconds.
Nothing happened inside the granary.
He frowned. Had it failed?
Just as he prepared to fire a second arrow, a faint orange glow appeared at the window. The light flickered, then grew brighter. Redder.
Boom!
Flames burst out from the opening. More fire followed, pushing through the cracks in the wooden walls.
It worked.
The fire was stronger than he had expected, and the wind was perfect. Fire fed on wind, and wind fed the fire. The flames shot into the sky, lighting up half the night.
* * *
"Fire! Fire!"
"Look! What is that?!"
The sudden blazing light and thick smoke woke the entire village. People climbed out of bed and rushed outside. When they saw the flames rising from Bartolo's estate, everyone froze.
"It's Bartolo's place!"
"It's burning! It's huge!"
They ran toward the fire, but dared not get too close. They stopped on a small hill a few hundred steps away and gathered there like spectators at a grand festival display.
No one rushed forward to put out the fire. No one carried water. They only watched.
They watched the massive granary twist and warp in the flames, then collapse with a thunderous crash. Sparks flew through the air like fireflies across the night sky. Wood cracked and exploded, the sound carrying far.
Firelight reflected on every villager's face.
Fear was there. Shock too. But more than either, there was frenzy, and beneath it, obsession.
The curse spoken by Abbot Giovanni echoed clearly in every mind.
"Flames shall consume your greed."
This was not an accident, it could not be one. This was divine punishment. Heavenly fire sent down by the Lord Himself. The flames of judgment summoned by Abbot Giovanni through holy power.
They had seen a miracle with their own eyes. They had watched someone they hated, yet once feared, suffer punishment from God. That realization filled them with a pleasure they had never known before.
Bartolo's authority, his wealth, his status, everything that had once crushed them beneath its weight, was burning away before them. In that moment, along with the granary, all of it turned to ash.
Gone without a trace.
* * *
That was when Giovanni appeared among the crowd.
He was still wearing his plain monk's robe. His arrival felt natural and perfectly timed, as if he had not come on purpose, like just another villager awakened by the fire.
When people noticed him, they stepped aside at once and opened a path.
Giovanni walked to the front of the crowd and stopped. He looked at the raging flames, like the mouth of hell itself. His expression was complex, pity mixed with resolve.
He said nothing, allowing their emotions to reach their peak.
At last, someone could no longer hold back. An old farmer dropped to his knees and shouted toward Giovanni's back.
"Abbot Giovanni! It was you! It was your power! The Lord heard your prayers!"
That shout shattered the last restraint.
Everyone knelt.
"Abbot Giovanni, you are our savior!"
"Please cleanse that demon completely!"
"We will obey you!"
Cries rose one after another, overlapping and filling the night air.
Giovanni slowly turned around. His gaze swept across the faces before him, red by the firelight and burning with madness.
The moment was fully ripe.
Those once gentle, ignorant lambs had been transformed into hungry, bloodthirsty wolves.
"Look," Giovanni began. "The Lord's judgment has arrived."
"But the demon's lair still stands. The tainted riches remain."
"Lambs of the Lord, take up your hoes. Take up your clubs."
"Go. Purify the land occupied by sin."
"Go. Take back what should have always been yours."
"This is the glory of the Lord!"
His words were like boiling oil poured onto flames already raging in their hearts.
The will of the crowd exploded.
"Cleanse him!"
"Burn him!"
"Take back our things!"
People leapt to their feet. Their eyes were red, their faces twisted. They were no longer villagers.
They were a mob.
They ran home and grabbed anything that could be used as a weapon: hoes, sickles, axes, pitchforks, burning torches. Merging into a raging flood, they charged toward Bartolo's estate, lit by fire like the gates of hell.
Giovanni stood on the hillside, watching the torrent he had created with his own hands.
He smiled in satisfaction.
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