Chapter 155: Exposure and Voyeurism
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 155: Exposure and Voyeurism
They say the greatest sorrow in the world is for a child to die before their parents, but the weeping that rose from below the castle walls held an emotion no less profound.
It sounded like the cry of a woman filled with grief, and also like the wail of one who had lost their family.
Over a hundred soldiers surrounded a single coffin, sobbing.
An hour had already passed since we had handed over Alex’s body, yet their tears for their fallen lord seemed endless.
“So he was a great commander, huh?”
I felt a slight pang of envy for Alex. At least he had so many people to weep for him.
Even if his end was in vain, wasn't this proof that he hadn't lived his life wrongly?
Andrei, who was looking down at the same scene, spoke.
“Considering his personality, he would have led from the front in every battle. It’s no wonder the soldiers loved him.”
“I do that as well.”
“There’s a vast difference between a meticulously calculated act and one done as a matter of course. If you decided it was more advantageous to command from the rear, you would give up the vanguard without a moment’s hesitation. Am I wrong?”
I fell silent. He was right.
“The soldiers may be uneducated, but they’re not unfeeling. In fact, their intuition is so sharp they can size up their commander in an instant. They would have known. They would have known that no matter how reckless he seemed, he would never abandon them.”
“That’s something I could never do.”
To me, soldiers were nothing more than useful pawns. I could send them to their deaths whenever necessary.
Andrei shook his head.
“There’s no need to imitate him. You can’t go seeking the most dangerous position in every battle just to build a bond with your soldiers. Besides, wasn’t it that very personality that led him to walk right into his own grave?”
Andrei asserted that while Alex could have been a fine comrade, he could never have been a great commander. His tone held a hint of consolation for me.
“More importantly, what’s this about the West Continent? It can’t be about Dresden sending additional reinforcements.”
Dresden had suffered significant losses in the unexpected battle with the Alliance.
Though they still held a military advantage over the Alliance, the problem was that another major adversary, Duke Signir, remained.
That was why Count Dresden had decided to dispatch additional reinforcements from his homeland, pouring all of his family’s strength into his bid for the throne of the North Continent.
This meant that with his power on the mainland weakened, Andrei no longer needed to remain on standby in Quaran. That was why he had answered my summons and come to the North Continent.
“How could Dresden afford to pour his forces into the North Continent? With a powerful lord on his border growing stronger by the day, what gave him such confidence?”
“Are you talking about me?”
Andrei nodded.
“Just as you left troops behind in the West Continent, Dresden did the same. But he recalled those troops to the North Continent. Why? How?”
“He no longer felt the need to keep me in check…?”
It was unlikely he had suddenly started to trust me, so something must have happened in the West Continent. Hadn't Andrei just mentioned it?
Andrei’s face hardened.
“While you were away, a few people decided to test the waters. One of them hatched a conspiracy that would have been extremely dangerous had it succeeded. Fortunately, the Princess foresaw it and dealt with it. If she hadn’t, you would have regretted your trip to the North Continent for a long, long time.”
Andrei spoke in vague terms, making it clear he wanted to avoid the details. It must have been related to Eleanor’s ability.
He’s watched Eleanor from her side for longer than I have, so it wouldn’t be strange for him to have an inkling of her power.
In other words, there had been numerous dangerous attempts, and Eleanor had somehow managed to thwart them with her ability.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that all those who made such attempts met their end in bizarre ways.”
One was struck by lightning out of a clear blue sky. Another, who had never been sick a day in his life, suddenly fell ill and died right before a campaign. There was even one who supposedly choked to death on his food because no one could help him in time.
“Thanks to that, no one has dared to cross Roxwood. But on the other hand, it has lent credence to Bronx II’s claims. You must have heard that he’s been slandering the Princess, calling her a witch.”
Bronx II, who had taken a step back for fear of being targeted by Eleanor’s ability, was on the move again.
Andrei added that he was secretly gathering forces. According to Jin, it wouldn't be long before he took direct action.
If the king actually managed to unite the nobles and launch an attack, Eleanor wouldn't be able to hold out for long. Her ability wasn't invincible.
If it were, how could the Hero ever win?
When playing as the Hero, if you stubbornly pushed forward like an ox, overcoming all sorts of bizarre obstacles, you could eventually defeat Eleanor.
The important question was how the king knew information that would take the Hero hundreds of deaths to discover.
Is it a case like Andrei’s?
The person who had been by Eleanor’s side the longest was none other than Bronx II. That was likely the only reason he had been able to see through her ability.
It was the only explanation that made sense, but why did it still bother me like a fishbone caught in my throat?
“If he hasn’t taken direct action yet, then we still have plenty of time.”
“You could lose the greater prize by chasing the smaller one. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
“My work in the North Continent is almost finished. I should be able to return in time.”
By now, Dresden and Signir would have cornered the Alliance from both sides and claimed victory. If so, the end was in sight.
*
Just as Allen predicted, the Alliance was cornered. Attacked from both sides by Dresden and Signir, they were defeated without being able to put up a proper fight.
“Is this all that’s left of our forces…?!”
An army that had numbered two thousand was now reduced to less than two hundred. In truth, this future had been sealed the moment Alex had departed.
“How dare he! Bringing in a foreign power! Duke Signir is no longer a man of the North!”
“We should be worrying about ourselves! There’s no way Duke Signir will leave us be after we’ve stood in his way at every turn!”
“All the more reason we must punish Duke Signir for breaking our customs! We must spread the word throughout the North Continent and gather more strength!”
They couldn't easily reach a consensus. Count Momond, who had served as their focal point, had been critically wounded in the last battle and was now hovering between life and death.
To make matters worse, the return of both Alex and Baron Babel in coffins threw them into utter chaos.
“Is it truly, truly Sir Alex? How could an invincible knight die so meaninglessly!”
“I can’t believe it! Even if it was a trap, Sir Alex should have been able to overcome it with ease!”
“He must have been the victim of some foul trickery!”
With both pillars of the Alliance crumbled, no one spoke of a counterattack anymore. Instead, they eyed each other warily, searching for a way to survive.
A few of the more cunning ones secretly sent messengers to Duke Signir, attempting to switch sides. It was just before the Alliance completely fell apart that the Pope stepped forward.
“We cannot collapse like this! Just as the Great Prophet overcame all manner of persecution and oppression to spread the Lord’s word in this land, we too can overcome the trials before us and set everything right!”
Even though his was the only positive voice, the surviving nobles of the Alliance scowled.
“Talk is cheap.”
It was a situation where no one who stepped forward would be well-received, and wasn't the Pope a refugee who couldn't even protect what was his?
The Pope, ignoring their reception, continued to raise his voice to draw their attention.
“I will prove that the Lord is with us. Everyone, follow me.”
Shoulders squared, he strode toward Count Momond’s tent. A physician was applying a poultice of crushed herbs to the count’s abdomen.
“Step aside.”
Without waiting for a reply, the Pope pushed the physician away, took out a waterskin from his robes, and turned it upside down. A golden liquid poured onto Count Momond.
“Ahem. What is that smell?”
“It’s pungent, almost like urine…”
Just as the nobles who had followed the Pope began to look at him with suspicion, a sound was heard.
“Ugh…”
Count Momond’s face, which had been contorted in pain, relaxed as if he were in a deep sleep.
“Wh-what is this—”
The onlookers’ eyes widened. The Pope grinned and roughly tore away the herbs that had been placed on the count’s abdomen.
“He’s healed?”
The wound, which had been so deep that the blade had protruded from his back, had vanished without a trace. In its place was smooth, new skin.
The nobles, unable to contain their astonishment, turned to look at the Pope. He met their gazes with a smug expression.
“This is the proof that the Lord is with us. What if we had a mountain of this Holy Water? Would you still give up so easily?”
The nobles looked at one another. With Holy Water that could save even the mortally wounded Count Momond, couldn't they create an invincible army?
Gulp.
The sound of someone swallowing their saliva echoed like thunder. Everyone was watching each other’s reactions.
“We must never, ever give up.”
The first voice came from behind the Pope. Count Momond, who had somehow regained consciousness, was sitting up.
“My lord Count—!”
“The Lord is with us! What foe could we not defeat? Duke Signir, who has forsaken his identity as a man of the North, and the foreign power of Dresden—they will all kneel before the Lord and beg for mercy!”
Those who witness a miracle cannot help but believe in God. For one who had experienced it firsthand, there was no need for words.
Count Momond, brought back from the dead, was transformed by the miracle into a fervent believer.
Though their degrees of faith varied, the nobles who had witnessed the miracle were not much different. A powerful sense of spiritual elation spread through them like a contagion, forging a sense of unity.
“He’s right! If the Lord is with us, what is there to fear! Let’s do it! Revenge!”
It was the moment the shattered Alliance was forged anew. But things would be very different from before. With their forces decimated by the last battle, they had no choice but to rely entirely on the Holy Water.
Furthermore, by invoking the will of the Lord as their justification, power would inevitably shift to the Pope.
Wasn't Count Momond, the core of the Alliance, already gazing at the Pope with ardent eyes?
It was clear that the Pope’s influence within the Alliance would only grow stronger with time.
The Pope, who had orchestrated it all, smiled.
Fools.
Why had he only now revealed the Holy Water, which would have been so helpful in battle? It was to diminish the influence of the nobles within the Alliance and to stage a dramatic scene.
But the nobles of the Alliance, mesmerized by the power of the Holy Water, failed to consider such things.
Everything had gone according to the Pope’s plan.
To prevent them from realizing his true intentions, even belatedly, he stirred them up even more.
“Our war will be a Holy War! Following the Lord’s will, we shall defeat the wicked foes and restore the identity of the North Continent!”
“Ooooh—!”
The people of the North had a tradition of uniting against foreign invaders, even while fighting amongst themselves. Now, the justification of a Holy War had been added to the mix.
The Pope was confident that these two justifications would be enough to rally the support of the local nobles who had, until now, watched the conflict like a fire across the river.
The Alliance would gain an army several times larger than what they had lost in the last war, and that army, thanks to the Holy Water, would be an immortal one that could not die.
Victory was a foregone conclusion.
*
However, the situation that the Pope and the Alliance’s messengers encountered when they visited the local nobles was different from what they had expected.
“A Holy War, you say…”
A local baron, far removed from the battlefield, did not hide his displeased expression. He waved the Pope’s letter that the messenger had brought.
“Holy Water? Count Momond was brought back from a fatal wound under the Lord’s care? Hah. You might as well have said he was resurrected, why don’t you?”
Count Momond and the Alliance nobles had responded so fervently because they had witnessed the miracle with their own eyes.
If not for that, they would have dismissed it as an absurd tale and laughed, just like this local baron.
“There is not a single falsehood in the letter. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“Hmph, how can I trust anything the Pope says!”
Another reason for his disbelief was that the Pope was not a trustworthy man. Wasn't he the most ill-suited of all the popes in history to hold that position?
The baron continued.
“The Alliance suffered a great defeat, and the Pope lost the Holy Land. Did you think I wouldn't see through this scheme to borrow my strength with such lies to make up for his failures?”
“How do you…”
The messenger was startled. How could a local lord at the edge of the North Continent be so well-informed about the war? The local baron preened.
“Did you think me a fool, ignorant of the world’s affairs, just because I remain in my domain?”
The messenger quickly composed himself.
“If you know all this, why do you hesitate! You must take the lead in punishing Duke Signir for bringing in a foreign power and defeating the evil foe who has usurped the Holy Land!”
“The former is indeed my business to intervene in. But the latter is not. Is the one you claim to be an evil foe not the Archbishop, renowned for his piety?”
“He has been excommunicated!”
“The one who should have been excommunicated first was the Pope.”
Archbishop Raceni, born and raised in the North Continent, had built his reputation there. Not stopping at that, he had crossed to the West Continent and proven his devotion.
An Archbishop who had even moved the hearts of Westerners? As a fellow Northerner, it was impossible not to feel proud.
And now, that very Archbishop had stepped forward, declaring he would no longer stand by and watch the corruption of the church and the Pope. A hero had returned after ten years.
It was obvious which side one’s heart would lean toward.
“Not long ago, a messenger came from the Archbishop as well. He asked me to attend his papal coronation and give him my blessing.”
Furthermore, Allen, anticipating that the Pope would make such a move, had acted in a timely manner.
“To ascend to the papacy himself without proper procedure! It is heresy!”
“Well, even a three-year-old knows that the Archbishop is more suited for that position than the current Pope.”
Moreover, the end of the Archbishop’s letter bore the signature of Duke Signir, who was close to the throne. In other words, this side held the practical advantage as well.
“My lord Baron! If you were to see the miracle with your own eyes, your mind would change completely!”
The baron’s brow twitched. The messenger’s persistent and forceful mention of a miracle made him think that it might not be a complete lie.
“A miracle, you say… Fine! I will go to the Pope myself and find out the truth! But! If you have made a fool of me, you will pay the price dearly!”
The baron narrowed his eyes and studied the messenger. It was a final test.
But there was no way the messenger, who had seen the miracle with his own eyes, would waver. He smiled brightly and said.
“A wise decision!”
Meanwhile, this same scene was playing out simultaneously in the many houses the messengers had visited.