God's Love
Marcus’s actions had been so natural that Isalbius only realized what was happening after his wrist was already half-bound.
“Mister Marcus? Why are you suddenly tying my wrist…”
“We couldn’t find the answer outside the walls, so we have to go inside and see the situation for ourselves. And when it comes to someone who can serve as both a gift and proper bait, you’re the only candidate, Mister Isalbius.”
If you were going to cast a fishing line, you first needed to prepare a convincing bait.
And in this conflict revolving around the Flowing Water Order, no finer bait existed than Isalbius.
“Even so…”
Isalbius mumbled as though he wanted to say something more, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish. He knew exactly how great a risk Elbridge’s party had taken by stepping forward.
In a situation like this, for Isalbius to shoulder a measure of danger was not a choice but an obligation.
With a face set in determination, Isalbius asked, “I understand. But I’d like to know what you intend to do once we’re inside the castle.”
“First we need to understand the ideal outcome you’re hoping for, Mister Isalbius.”
Elbridge found it slightly strange to tie the man’s wrist before beginning any real discussion, yet neither the man in question nor Marcus seemed to regard it as particularly important.
After a moment’s consideration, Isalbius said, “The most ideal scenario would be to rescue every holy knight and priest of the Flowing Water Order and enter the castle where the Black Axe Brotherhood is stationed.”
Marcus asked in return, “The order you had frequent exchanges with in the past is the Black Axe Brotherhood?”
“Correct.”
Elbridge had never visited the South, but he had heard stories of it through the well-traveled holy knights.
The religious orders of the southern continent differed greatly from those in other regions in many ways.
The most immediately noticeable difference was in their names. Because orders were so often built around bloodlines or specific territories, names such as “Apostles” or “Brotherhood” were commonly used in the South.
“If that is the best option, what would be the second-best?”
“Well… rather than a second option… the most important thing is to gather as many priests and holy knights together as possible. Only once our numbers grow and we gain a real voice can we avoid the current predicament.”
Marcus thought for a moment, then answered, “Then let’s do this. We’ll use Mister Isalbius as bait to get inside the castle, watch for an opening, and escape with as many priests and holy knights as we can. One rescue here, another there… we’ll keep gathering people until we can’t anymore.”
Isalbius still looked uneasy. “Word will spread. Even if everything goes smoothly, rescuing people from this castle may be the first and last time.”
“Since the orders are at war, they won’t be in close contact with one another. The rumors will spread that much more slowly. With luck, we may be able to rescue people from three or four strongholds, perhaps more.”
It was a reasonably realistic and solid plan, so both Elbridge and Rombel gave small nods of agreement.
The Goddess of the Rusty Shield, who had remained silent until now, quietly made her presence known.
For once, Marcus has offered an opinion that perfectly matches your goddess’s. He’s rather clever.
Yet in the very next moment, Marcus faltered.
“Hold on. The God of the Fox Rain has delivered an oracle.”
“An oracle?”
“Yes. He says that picking up one stalk at a time and carrying it to the warehouse is something only a blockhead would do. A wise person gathers enough stalks and brings them all at once…”
Picking up one ear of grain at a time and carrying it to the warehouse is the act of a fool. A wise man gathers sufficient grain and brings it all at once.
Rather than traveling from castle to castle rescuing the holy knights of the Flowing Water Order piecemeal, they should cooperate with the forces here, gather as many holy knights as possible in one place, and escape in a single decisive move.
Rombel gave an awkward laugh. “That definitely sounds better. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Elbridge, however, could not laugh along with him. He suspected the Goddess of the Rusty Shield might have been slightly wounded.
Marcus said, “It’s more or less decided. Let’s go.”
Marcus and Isalbius took the lead while Rombel and Elbridge followed behind.
As the four of them approached the wall, a rope-tied harpoon flew down from above and embedded itself in the ground.
Thud.
The harpoon sank nearly two handspans into the earth.
The southern soil might be soft, but ordinary human strength could never have driven it that deep.
They said there are almost no knights in the South… so this must be a holy knight.
When Elbridge looked up, he saw a young man in a metal breastplate gazing down at them from the battlements.
“Halt. Who are you?”
The young man’s voice was somewhat stiff, yet what Elbridge sensed was not hostility but tension.
The spot where the harpoon had landed was too far away to have been meant to kill. The party had not been perceived as an enemy force, which explained the relatively gentle reception.
Marcus answered, “Travelers who can clearly be of help to you.”
“Be specific.”
“I’m the mercenary Marcus, affiliated with the Fox Rain Order. The holy knight behind me is Sir Elbridge of the Rusty Shield Order. And the dwarf beside him is… just Rombel.”
Rombel shot Marcus a glare, but Marcus paid it no mind.
The young man on the wall replied, “You certainly don’t dress or speak like southerners. Where did you come from? As far as I know, neither the Fox Rain Order nor the Rusty Shield Order has any presence in the South.”
“We came from Soleneon in the East.”
“The East… And why have you brought a priest of the Flowing Water Order with you?”
“It’s a long story. May we come inside and speak with whoever is in charge? I don’t know whether we’ll be of benefit to you, but we certainly won’t be a loss.”
There was genuine persuasiveness in Marcus’s words.
In a fortress that held anywhere from several dozen to over a hundred holy knights, four outsiders could hardly pose a serious threat.
“Wait there.”
The young man made a brief gesture behind him. He had clearly sent someone to report to his superiors.
After a short wait, he shouted down again.
“We cannot open the gate. Climb the ladder.”
Opening the gate the moment they arrived might allow ambush troops hidden in the Great Forest to rush out, so they would lower a ladder instead.
“Lower the ladder.”
Clunk.
A ladder so large it might have been intended for siege warfare clattered against the wall.
“I’ll go first,” Elbridge said, and began to climb.
When he reached the top of the wall, the first thing to meet his eyes was the dozen or so men and women surrounding him.
Southern holy knights? Their equipment is fascinating.
They wore metal breastplates, but the rest of their armor was made of tanned leather.
Too elaborate for ordinary soldiers, yet too plain for holy knights.
Their weapons were equally distinctive. Each carried a somewhat short, curved blade and a rope-attached harpoon.
Elbridge turned to look at the city inside the walls.
Buildings crowded tightly together on the ground.
Because space was limited, the individual structures were not especially large, but nearly all of them rose two or three stories high.
Just as Isalbius had described, small houses perched among the enormous trees inside the city. Some homes bridged the gap between two trunks; others had turned massive knots into living quarters.
Staircases fixed to the bark were visible as well.
If they ever have to climb the trees in battle, it makes sense that the holy knights’ equipment would naturally become lighter.
Once Marcus, carrying Isalbius on his back, and Rombel had climbed up behind him, the young man said, “Follow them.”
The dozen holy knights moved out, encircling Elbridge’s party the way guards might escort prisoners.
Just as Elbridge’s group stared in wonder at the southern city, the people inside the walls watched them back with eyes full of curiosity.
Yet whenever those gazes met the eyes of the southern holy knights, the citizens hurriedly looked away.
Fear?
It was clearly different from the reaction easterners showed toward holy knights or regular knights.
Marcus seemed to notice the atmosphere as well. He lowered his voice and asked Isalbius, “Mister Isalbius, are southerners afraid of holy knights?”
“Yes. The South is different from the East. Southern holy knights are… think of them as a combination of eastern nobles, knights, and holy knights. They rule their territories through bloodlines and hold a monopoly on force.”
“Why did such a difference arise?”
“Unlike other regions where demonic beasts have been scarce for a long time, the South has never truly subdued its demonic beasts. It’s because of the vast Great Forest. The beasts have always been numerous, and the role of holy knights has never disappeared. Each order has always been both ruler and protector of its city. Their authority could not help but grow strong.”
“Fascinating,” Marcus murmured.
Unlike Marcus, who simply found it interesting, both Elbridge and Rombel felt the atmosphere was somewhat familiar.
People in the old days had both feared and revered holy knights in equal measure.
As he walked slowly, Elbridge gradually recalled the information he had once heard about the South from the depths of his long-buried memories.
A far smaller population than other regions. Mostly minor orders without seats in the assembly. A land where demons rarely appeared, yet one infested with countless demonic beasts. Holy knights who also performed the duties of priests…
Before long the party’s steps came to a halt.
They stood before the largest and slightly leaning tree in the city.
In front of the tree was a platform roughly chest-high, made of pure white stone—rare to see in this region.
A middle-aged man sat atop the platform, while dozens of armed men and women stood in formation below it.
About half carried curved swords and harpoons, but the other half wielded a variety of different weapons.
It’s not simply that their weapons differ. Several orders are mixed together. But the faction using harpoons clearly holds the greatest influence.
Behind the platform, several people stared at Isalbius with wide eyes. From their expressions, they appeared to belong to the Flowing Water Order.
After a quick assessment, Elbridge looked back at the man on the platform.
So he’s the leader of this order.
The man had black curly hair that fell to his shoulders.
Even seated, his physique was clearly far larger than an ordinary person’s, and he gave off the impression of a sleek predator rather than a human.
The man on the platform spoke.
“I never expected guests from the distant East. I am Bireon, leader of the Silver Harpoon Apostles. In eastern terms, I suppose you could call me archbishop and senior holy knight.”
Archbishop and senior holy knight. Elbridge felt a small sense of kinship.
After all, he too had ended up taking on every major role simply because there was no one else.
Marcus answered, “I’m the mercenary Marcus of the Fox Rain Order. The two behind me are the holy knight Elbridge of the Rusty Shield Order and Rombel.”
Bireon’s gaze swept across the party. Elbridge thought the man’s eyes lingered on him especially long.
“I see. Marcus. What is your purpose in seeking out the Silver Harpoon Apostles?”
“I accepted a request. Isalbius told me to help the priests and holy knights of the Flowing Water Order gather in one place, no matter where that might be.”
“Then Isalbius is the client. Why is the client’s wrist bound?”
A sharp observation.
Come to think of it, there had been no real need to tie Isalbius’s wrists.
If one had to find a reason, it was perhaps that the bound wrists made Elbridge’s party seem slightly less threatening.
Marcus spoke the first thing that came to mind.
“In the East, there is a custom of wrapping a gift well before presenting it.”
“Haha!”
Apparently pleased by the answer, Bireon burst into laughter.
The surrounding holy knights also turned their heads slightly and chuckled.
Thanks to that, Elbridge learned that southerners enjoyed ambiguous jokes.
After laughing for quite some time, Bireon finally replied, “Not bad. A decent jest. I’ll accept the gift. You may leave now.”
Marcus frowned. “The request I accepted is only completed once the people of the Flowing Water Order are gathered together.”
“Are you saying you intend to fight alongside us?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
Yet Bireon’s response was lukewarm.
“And how much help could you possibly be?”
The unexpected refusal left Marcus flustered.
But to Elbridge it sounded less like refusal and more like provocation.
Despite the half-hearted tone, Bireon’s eyes were filled with interest.
Nor was Bireon alone. Every holy knight standing below the platform seemed to be expecting something.
There were people like this in the world—people who found it easier to understand one another by clashing rather than exchanging polite greetings. People who believed you could only recognize someone’s true worth by crossing blades with them.
Bireon and the southern holy knights were demanding it of Elbridge’s party.
Be a little more honest than usual. Be a little rude. Show us what lies deep in your hearts.
To such people, humility was merely the behavior of the weak, unworthy of respect.
Therefore Elbridge smiled, revealing his white teeth.
“Anyone listening would think southern greenhorns actually have the discernment to judge the skill of an eastern holy knight.”
As expected, the eyes of the southern holy knights burned not with anger but with interest and a competitive spirit.
Elbridge arrogantly lifted his chin.
“If even one of you can defeat me, I’ll strip off all my armor and crawl all the way to the Holy City of Soleneon.”
At Elbridge’s bold declaration, Bireon let out a great laugh.
“Haha! I know the Rusty Shield Order claimed four seats this year. But gaining seats doesn’t mean your holy knights’ skills have improved.”
Elbridge grinned fiercely.
“Anyone can come at me. I’ll show you the skill of the weakest holy knight in our order.”