Chapter 169: Where the Holy Light Doesn’t Shine (Part 1)
In the southern outskirts of Silgaya, Alectine City.
A brisk breeze whistled through the air, shaking loose the leaves from the treetops, while the canals gurgled away like a murmuring gossiping crowd. The shadows of autumn were beginning to creep in. The damp, muddy ground still squelched underfoot, and the flickering glow from campfires illuminated a scene of ragged people wandering the battered streets.
Near the northern city gate, the wide thoroughfare was nearly under martial law. Gloomy-looking guards rode in on their steeds, hooves clattering as they escorted a cluster of well-dressed nobles huddled in the center. Trailing behind them, covered by tarps, were countless bloody human heads piled high in carts.
A few staggering pedestrians caught sight of the grim procession and stopped dead. They exchanged hushed remarks: “Those are the heads of demons.”
“Yep, and probably some traitors from the Warhammer Army too…”
“Where in the world are the nobles shipping these heads off to…?”
“Out of the city, north and east— they’ve stacked them up in piles! I delivered water to the knights on the city wall yesterday and saw… you could smell the stench from way far away…”
“Still, the ones who ran away came back! I heard some demons returned and had a brawl with the knights over in the east…”
“Is that true? So is the city safe or not?”
“Of course it is! With Pope Angel here, what do you have to be afraid of? Those demons will be purified by the great divine miracles—no matter how many they send, it won’t help!”
“The Pope is really here?”
“Yep, saw him with my own eyes…”
“Praise the Church, praise the Deity… Our Pope is the great savior…”
On the northern and eastern high walls, the cross flags were raised again, gold and white flapping boldly in the wind. Stars flickered sparse in the night sky, and the tune of a kishara drifted over from the wall as monks and nuns sang together for the third time in honor of the fallen.
Below the walls, Isaac, drenched in bl**d, rode a horned horse, leading a dozen Golden Armored Knights through the charred, crumbling northern gateway. He nodded to patrolling guards, showed them a token, and then dashed into the streets. After a long ride, he reached the headquarters of the First Knights Order. Dismounting, he strode through the tents and approached a barrack door, exchanging a few words with a waiting cleric before stepping inside.
“Pope.”
In the brightly lit barrack, a handsome blond man was bent over a writing desk, scribbling furiously on a sheepskin scroll. Hearing Isaac’s voice, he looked up, rubbed his tired eyes, and smiled wearily, “Oh, Isaac, you’re here.”
He yawned, gestured toward a chair in front of him, and returned to his writing, “Sit down. You look exhausted.”
Isaac knelt on one knee instead of taking a seat. “Pope, we found a few hundred of the fleeing heretics on the hillside of the northern bank. There are about eight hundred of them. They plan to take advantage of tonight’s darkness to try and sneak back in shouting they want to fill the city with at least two thousand more deaths, and they’ve prepared grappling hooks to scale the walls. They’ve all been wiped out now.”
“Goodness, these lunatics…”
The Pope shook his head, a blend of disdain and helplessness creeping into his smile. “What about the west and east?”
“The western front is being pursued by Captain Safiros, no news yet. Three hours ago, the heavy cavalry had an encounter with the returning heretics on the eastern front, took out three hundred and routed over a thousand. They’re still in pursuit, heading toward Locke Town.”
Pope Angel continued to write quickly while nodding. “Got it.”
“Pope, the number of heretics scattered is too high. In a few days, as they spread out more, they’ll be set on escaping for good. With our current manpower and energy, we might not even catch a shadow…”
Isaac hesitated, lowering his head briefly. Not seeing a response from Angel, he continued, “Shouldn’t we negotiate urgently with the Republic, demand they mobilize surrounding noble private armies to assist the Knights Order with a full border lockdown? Otherwise, the southern region is likely to fall into greater chaos—the heretics will reach the villages…”
“You needn’t worry about that,” Angel finally raised his head.
He set down his feather quill, held up the sheepskin parchment, and under the flickering candlelight, reviewed the contents once more. “I have my own ideas about how to deal with the fleeing madmen. You know as well as I do that finding and eliminating each and every one of them isn’t something that can be done overnight. The gold it would take would be a hefty sum.”
“And now the Currency Exchange is crawling into a shell, doing nothing. With Captain Williams sacrificed, their total overseer over Silgaya is running out of options… perhaps now he’s already started packing up and escaping? Ha…”
Angel chuckled lightly. “Be it the Currency Exchange or Emerald City, relying on these spineless fools from the Republic to achieve a total lockdown is harder than smashing the Gate of Truth. To bring an end to this sudden disaster and allow the people some peace, we will likely have to seek breakthroughs from the Holy City first… hmm.”
After carefully reviewing the contents of the sheepskin paper, he returned the document to the table, stretched, and addressed the kneeling strong man, “Isaac, you’ve worked hard these past few days. You don’t need to worry too much about the upcoming matters, just let things roll as they may, and take some time to rest.”
“Pope…”
“Go rest.”
Angel waved him off, then suddenly recalled something, “Oh right, has Ambassador Wether returned?”
“…He has.” Isaac replied somberly. “Late at night he should be back. It seems to have gone quite well; at least two cities agreed to open their granaries. Our knights have already entered the cities, and tomorrow… by the latest the day after, they will bring back a shipment of rye and some livestock. The nobles of Alectine City also promised that their mills will remain open for all disaster victims for at least a month.”
“Hmm.”
Hearing this, Angel thought for a moment and instructed, “It would be even better if they could get some vegetables. Have someone follow the ambassador to negotiate again. I know this is a critical time, and there’s not much harvest to be had, but we must try our best to secure more for the people of Alectine City… anything will do, let’s give them more.”
“For the two cities willing to supply food, make sure to negotiate well. The church will remember this kindness, and once this is all over, they will not be disappointed when it comes time to repay them. But for those unwilling, who make excuses and resist opening the granaries? We need not be courteous to them; feel free to have someone smash their gates open, storm in with the Faith Organization and heavy cavalry, seize their granaries first, then find the city lord.”
“I understand…”
“Go ahead.”
Angel waved him off again, and the burly man stood and exited.
In the small barrack, the flames danced, and suddenly everything fell silent.
Tap, tap, tap…
The young Pope tapped his fingertips against the desk, his gaze half-lidded and slightly drowsy, the dim red glow illuminating the sheepskin parchment beneath. It was covered in a flurry of text, looking very much like it contained a message, the top surface revealing bold characters that had only recently dried, reading: [Wanted Notice].
After a moment, he folded the sheepskin and placed it in a nearby envelope. He melted some sealing wax with a silver spoon, pulled an impression stamp from his loose robes, and pressed it into the cooling wax, leaving an imprint of an owl.
“What a hassle…”
The Pope looked at the letter, lost in thought, and lightly clicked his tongue.
Soon after, the barrack door creaked open, and someone entered silently, walking straight up to the Pope.
Angel lifted his gaze and caught a glimpse of him.
The newcomer wore a gold and white clerical robe, his blond hair neatly tied back, his youthful face marked with determination yet softened by a hint of gentleness. His keen brown eyes shone like those of an eagle.
If the girl who had bravely ventured into the northern realms were still here, she would recognize him immediately as the smooth-talker who could never remember his own name— the young bishop from the Holy City, an elite of the Faith Organization.
Angel regarded the young bishop for a moment, then picked up the letter on the table and passed it to him. “Deliver this.”
“Understood.”
The young bishop nodded and took the envelope with a slight smile. “Pope, the nobles in the city have approached again.”
“Hmm.”
The young Pope lounged back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, waiting for him to continue.
“They are led by the city lord’s wife, inviting you to the castle. She said it’s difficult for a noblewoman like her to host you here in these conditions, yet she finds it unacceptable for you to be staying in such a barrack. She implores you to consider her, and graciously requests you step into the castle, where a feast awaits.”
“Tell her no need.”
Angel flatly rejected this, then added after a moment’s thought, “If I go to the castle, I would be close only to those nobles who are clinging to life. Here, I am closer to the warriors who have shed bl**d for this land and to the common people of the city. Aresta, let her know that if she truly has a heart, she can send me a couple bottles of whatever red wine they have left in the castle.”
“Fine then, as you say.”
The young bishop named Aresta shrugged, tucking the letter back away as he turned to leave. He suddenly remembered something and looked back: “Oh, Pope. There’s one more thing…”
“What is it?” Angel raised an eyebrow, “Is that old St. George finally making a move?”
“Not exactly.”
Aresta lightly shook his head. “I just have a small question nagging at me… I’ve been wondering, if you were to issue this wanted notice, the other side wouldn’t notice it at first— but then they surely would. If that happens, wouldn’t that complicate matters if that kid manages to escape?”
After saying this, perhaps realizing he shouldn’t be questioning the Pope, he quickly added, “Just my personal thoughts, take it as you will.”
Angel chuckled lightly. “So what if they do notice?”
“The Williams Family will undoubtedly retaliate…”
“Retaliate?” Upon hearing that, Angel’s smile broadened. “By that time, they’ll probably have a hard time saving themselves. If necessary, that fellow named Beiyard might end up being abandoned…”
Aresta frowned.
“I’ve already sent someone to handle that.”
Angel stood up, spouting nonsensical words: “The next issue of the Church news bulletin.”
Aresta still frowned.
After a moment, it dawned on him. “Pope, you mean to…”
“The reporting about this war, regarding the Republic’s inaction, the Currency Exchange branches passing the buck, their unwillingness to take responsibility, their passive approach to fundraising, how merchants are too scared to venture onto the battlefield— all of which directly led to the defeat of the Third Knights Order and the d*ath of Captain Williams. St. George’s Currency Exchange and all personnel responsible for organizing logistics during this war bear an unshirkable, significant responsibility.”
