A Paladin's Corruption

Hello! This is my first story on Literotica. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Please feel free to give me suggestions and feedback in the comments.

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Chapter 1: A Paladin's Prayer

"Holy Goddess, we ask in all your wisdom and your mercy, heal this man of his mortal wounds," prayed the holy paladin Vera.

She gently placed her hands upon the soldier's bandaged abdomen. A necklace adorned with a four-pointed star was wrapped around her fingertips. The other healers stood and watched helplessly in the tent, white habits stained with various amounts of dirt and blood, each with an expression of sorrow and fatigue. Finally, after several minutes of prayer, Vera stood up, the battle-tarnished metal of her plate armor clinking as she did so.

Sister Maria, youngest of the healers, was the first to speak. "Will Henry be alright?" she asked of the Paladin, hands intertwined and held up against her chest.

Vera raised a stoic expression and explained, "his life is in the hands of the Goddess now." While Maria looked naively hopeful, the other healers knew what this meant; this man was almost certainly lying on his deathbed.

One of the healers, Lucia, broke out into tears. Another healer, Anna, wrapped arms around her head to console her, but they all felt the need to cry. As holy paladin, voice of the Goddess, it was Vera's duty to console and instill morale to the people around her.

"Please, sisters, shed no tears for the fallen today. Had it not been for your efforts, many more would have suffered the same fate. Now go, tend to those who can still be helped," she preached, attempting to stand tall and wise, as a shining beacon of virtue.

The crowd of healers dispersed, most moving off to tend to the wounded soldiers in the other beds around the tent. Anna took Lucia to resolve herself outside. As they did so, Vera breathed a sigh and looked down at her fallen comrade. Forgive me... she whispered.

She grabbed her necklace and her sword, and stepped outside the tent. The sun was setting on the grassy knoll where they were stationed. Immediately she was greeted by her commander, officer Amon Briggs, a tall, buff man wearing an officer's blue uniform and cap, with a well-kept goatee.

"Sir," the paladin saluted, standing tall with perfect posture, yet still having to tilt her head up to look her higher-up in the face.

"At ease. How's it looking in there, Artessia?" he asked, frowning, head tilted down.

"Terrible," Vera explained, looking gravely solemn. "Officer Henry has been severely injured. Another dozen or so mortally wounded or incapacitated. I just finished delivering a prayer with the healers, but... it's not looking good.

"It... it was me, sir," Vera professed, looking gravely solemn, but maintaining her posture. "I was the one leading the men during this morning's engagement. I take full responsibility for the lives lost and the injuries accrued. Henry and the others... their deaths were because of me."

Briggs frowned and said, "Nonsense, this morning's battle was the result of an ambush by those Eastern scoundrels. There is no doubt in my mind, any command or order is always made as wisely as possible.

"Look alive, Artessia," Briggs warned, indicating behind the paladin as two nurses walked past them and entered the tent. Dropping his voice to a low mumble, he said, "Listen, my lady. You must maintain your composure while out among the ranks. Many of these people look up to you; if they witness you in distress, it will only kill their spirit even further."

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "I'll send word to the High Order for reinforcements. In the meanwhile, stay strong, and try and get yourself some rest, Artessia."

"Yes commander, I'll do my best," she said, fatigued, trying to maintain her composure.

"You always do," he said, patting her on the shoulder.

As she walked, she saw the other soldiers looking up at her, some in bandages or crutches. Despite their situations, many of the soldiers smiled and greeted the holy warrior, a welcoming sight.

"Hey, Vera! Would you bare your breasts to me? It's a dying man's last wish!" shouted one of the soldiers in bandages, smirking.

Despite her anguish, Vera chuckled. "Oho, you're not dead yet, soldier," the paladin quipped back, putting up a smug smile.

The other men snickered at this exchange. As a holy warrior, Vera swore an oath to maintain her chastity. But being pragmatic, the catcalling boosted morale, for all of them. So she just played along and let them have their fun; boys will be boys, and this was their way of coping with their situation. The men respected her enough to never lay a finger on her, anywho.

The paladin walked past the poor refugees, folks from the countryside caught in the crossfire. Many of them were praying, others were waiting in food lines distributing soup, some were helping with supplies and camp upkeep. What they didn't teach you in the academy was the number of innocent people you would witness suffering.

Despite their situations, they still smiled and immediately recognized the paladin as she walked past, giving her a salute or a bow or a curtsey. She put up a tired smile and waved back at them. She put up this facade knowing that many of these folks looked up to her, and saw her as their hero in these trying times.

She reached her tent, but before entering, the holy paladin witnessed a strange sight. One of the camp followers ran to her, a young, short girl in her late teens. She ran as though she were light as a feather, light brown hair flowing in the wind. She was unlike the other followers; her big blue eyes were mesmerizing, and she was wearing a white button dress with a black corset that made her endowed bosom obvious, and a skirt which came up halfway up to her thighs, in exceptionally good condition. And her pale complexion could only be described as... beautiful.

"Miss Artessia? Have you seen my daddy, Henry?" she asked the paladin.

Vera paused, staring at the girl for a moment, before snapping back to her thoughts. "I'm sorry, Henry is in the infirmary and is in serious condition. Our healers are doing the best they can and we've given him our strongest prayers," the paladin explained seriously. Forgive me, for his death was of my own incompetence, Vera wanted to say, but stopped remembering the commander's warning.

"Strongest prayers? I see..." the girl said, looking crestfallen. "Thank you, miss." The girl wrapped her arms around Vera in a wide embrace. Vera solemnly placed a hand around the girl's back.

The girl leaned in and gave the paladin a quick kiss on the cheek. Before Vera could even process what just happened, the girl broke from the hug, ran away and disappeared. Nobody seemed to notice her as she passed by.

Vera shrugged it off, too exhausted to contemplate anything at the moment, and entered her tent, shutting the curtain behind her. This tent was one of the few moments of peace and privacy afforded to Vera on the battlefield. She took a seat on the bed and untied her hair from its loose bun, letting her golden locks flow down her sullen face. She then stripped away her armor, placing it neatly upon the armor stand, revealing her toned body, with simple wrappings for her breasts and gray undergarments. She stripped away the wrappings to give her large breasts some breathing room for the night.

She took out the necklace with the four-point star, kneeled in front of the bed, and prayed to herself,

merciful Goddess, give me the strength and wisdom to lead these men on the battlefield. Please, grant to me the healing grace to restore the good wounded men as you will it.

Praying before bed was one of her duties as a high priestess. But in the back of her mind, she contemplated whether the Goddess was listening or not. She never said it out loud, or even to herself, but within her subconscious she was beginning to doubt whether there was a Goddess listening to begin with.

She finished her prayer and took a seat on the bed, and examined herself in the mirror. Her shoulder had a nasty bruise given to her by one of the orcish brutes she met that day, but it was minor enough that she figured the healers' time could be better spent. Still, it ached. Vera looked in the bedside mirror to inspect the damage, but noticed that the girl from earlier left a blotch of lipstick on her left cheek. While it wasn't impossible for refugees to have cosmetics, it was exceedingly rare.

Did Henry always have a daughter? Please, forgive me young lady...

thought the paladin, wiping the mark off her face. Knowing she had another day of hard labor and fruitless prayers tomorrow, she laid on the bed and attempted to get some sleep.