Hyde Sets Out to Suppress the Heretics! #4
The Crescent Moon Sisterhood's stronghold was riddled with secret passages.
That was precisely why wiping out these witches had always been so difficult. Raid them, and they scattered like cockroaches through tunnels punched open in every direction.
And that very fact had become an advantage for me now.
"There should be one around here somewhere—."
I clawed through the ground near the sewage pipes. I remembered there being another secret passage in this area.
How furious I had been, back then, after crawling my way through the filth of those pipes only to discover that a far more convenient real secret passage had been sitting right beside them the whole time.
I never imagined that all that rage and suffering would come back around to serve me like this.
"Job's trials were part of the providence of salvation. Mine were no different."
I was still consoling myself when I spotted a wooden door half-hidden among the undergrowth.
I pulled open the weathered door, and with a long creeeak, the reek of cellar mold came flooding out. Beyond it, a tunnel stretched away like a mine shaft.
No sunlight reached this far, but a lamp left nearby made the passage easy enough to navigate. Roughly thirty meters of tunnel. The ancient Rome Empire sewage conduit, as I recalled, had run about fifty meters.
Even knights would take a fair while crawling through fifty meters of filth. Work hard, you bastards.
With that cheerful thought, I opened the secret passage and stepped inside. As far as I remembered, this tunnel opened near the dump where they discarded waste—a place few people ever bothered to visit. And just as my memory promised, I emerged into the refuse yard.
"……."
I scanned the surroundings. Completely empty. Loras and his party were still crawling through the underground pipes, by the look of it.
These bastards are slow as hell.
After a long wait, Loras and his men finally dragged themselves into the dump, reeking so badly it was almost a physical force. Loras, spotting me already waiting, recoiled as if he had seen a ghost—then hissed in a low, furious voice.
"Hyde. Explain what the hell is going on…!"
What was going on, indeed. I decided to play dumb, slipping on the mask of innocence.
"I did hear about a secret passage from Bluebeard and Nomad, but the word of cultists is hardly trustworthy. Who knows if there might have been a trap in that sewage pipe? So I searched the area and found a door leading underground."
"You little—Hy—!"
Loras looked ready to lose his mind. The only reason he did not finish the sentence was that Knight Tristan clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Shh—. Loras, I understand how you feel, but keep quiet. There are people everywhere."
Tristan, Oscar, and Baldwin, at least, did not appear to be complete idiots. They clearly had plenty they wanted to say, but settled for glaring at me with a look that promised, Just wait until we get back.
I addressed them calmly.
"You should take off that armor first. The stench is unbearable. Even if you try to sneak around like this, you will be found out immediately."
I pointed at the rags scattered through the dump. Filthy clothes, yes—but still better than armor caked in sewage.
"Change into these. Male slaves wander freely through the Crescent Moon Sisterhood's stronghold, so disguising yourselves should be easy."
I rummaged through the refuse, hunting for anything usable. Rags, all of them—but even among rags, some were more serviceable than others.
Then my eye snagged on a brown robe.
An utterly ordinary brown robe, the kind you could find anywhere. But my hands never forgot that familiar texture.
This is the robe I picked up five years ago when I was trying to escape this place.
To meet it again here, of all places.
I changed with practiced ease, then smeared dust, garbage, and ash across my face. The male slaves kept by the Crescent Moon Sisterhood had faces and hygiene that left much to be desired. If I wanted to avoid suspicion, I had to match them.
"Sir Oscar and the knights need not bother disguising your faces."
They were already in a sufficiently wretched state. No one would recognize a knight or a bishop looking like that.
They each pulled on loose rags and hid their swords.
"Lord Hyde. You lead the way."
Oscar jabbed a finger into my back. Feeling the sharp point of his hostility, I moved slowly out of the dump.
A forest fortress crawling with madwomen who carried C-shaped sickle blades shaped like crescent moons. As we advanced carefully into it, someone spotted me and shouted.
"Hey! Slave! Been slacking off in the latrine? Get over there and move those crates!"
Exactly the reaction I had expected. I shuffled over with the awkward, bow-legged gait of a man who had undergone a certain irreversible procedure, and picked up a load. Oscar and the others, catching on, began to move the same way.
"Holy shit, this actually works?"
"I never would have imagined a method like this."
Loras and Oscar marveled. Tristan soon turned to me.
"Lord Hyde, how did you come up with this? Did Lady Psyche tell you?"
How did I come up with it?
I wish I didn't know either. This is an operation paid for with five years of my blood, sweat, and tears.
"Nicola and Nomad were the ones who delivered male slaves and sacrificial offerings to the Crescent Moon Sisterhood. It is only natural that the stronghold would hold so many male slaves that even they could not recognize every face."
Indeed, male slaves shuffled about everywhere like zombies—drooling, walking with that same broken gait. Baldwin asked, watching them,
"Why do they all look like that?"
"The Crescent Moon Sisterhood are heretics who worship the virgin goddess. They despise men so intensely that the moment they capture one, they crush his testicles with their bare fists and castrate him. All of you would do well to be careful not to get caught."
At the words crush his testicles with their bare fists, every man present flinched at the waist. When it came to testicular pain, men possessed a capacity for empathy unmatched by any other circumstance.
In any case, by acting like slaves, we were able to move through the secluded corners of the Crescent Moon Sisterhood's stronghold without drawing much suspicion. Occasionally women approached, barking, "Hey, why are you all clumped together!"—but Loras and Baldwin quietly snapped their necks and disposed of them.
In that fashion, we reached the prisoner pens.
I stopped before the wooden cages built like animal stalls.
"I need to find a certain herb to treat Dihon's illness. There is a high chance the heretics here are cultivating it, so I will need to search. Who will come with me?"
I was asking for cover while I went after the plant. But no one was particularly eager to step forward.
I was, it seemed, thoroughly ostracized among these men.
"Sir Tristan?"
Tristan, you're supposed to be my escort.
Whether he was still angry about being forced to crawl through sewage, whether he had chosen his friendship with Loras, or whether several reasons had simply piled up—Tristan refused.
"Lord Hyde, it is far too dangerous. We should free the hostages and get out. The Sisterhood's numbers appear greater than expected."
I had known they would say that. Good. This way I could separate from them with perfect legitimacy.
But I still had to look bitterly disappointed.
"I made a promise to the Count. Then I will go alone."
I turned on my heel and headed off to find the herb. The Crescent Moon Sisterhood had always loved tending little gardens of assorted poisonous plants.
And sure enough, the herb I needed was growing wild in a garden plot. Finding it was not difficult at all; I plucked a generous handful.
"Found it. Digitalis—the witch's herb."
Herb secured. Time for the rest of the plan.
I snatched a nearby torch and hurled it into a pile of firewood and the dry thatch of a roof. Then, clearing my throat, I put on a thin, high woman's voice and screamed.
"Kyaaaaah! Fire! Fire! There's a fire! The knights have invaded! The Holy Crusade is setting everything ablaze! The knights are in the male prisoner pens!"
Flames roared up through the dry timber, baking the air in an instant.
For some reason, setting things on fire feels fantastic!
I kept throwing torches into warehouses and buildings, shouting all the while.
"Sir Loras! I, Hyde, have been captured by the Sisterhood! Lord Oscar! Help me!"
"Disgusting."
Oscar Archibold frowned as he looked over the captives. The men lay sprawled like livestock, their manhoods ruined beyond recognition.
"Where is Galatea?"
Loras asked. He licked his lips faintly at the thought of Galatea, the Knight of Divine Punishment. She was not what one would call a great beauty—but she was attractive enough. Female knights, in particular, had firm, resilient bodies that were pleasant in any number of ways.
If I rescue her, she might even fall for me, right?
That was the thought running through his head when the uproar began.
Fire—fire—.
—The Holy Crusade has invaded!
Outside the prisoner pens, chaos erupted in an instant.
—Sir Loras! I've been captured! Lord Oscar! Help me!
And through it all, Hyde's voice cut through with perfect clarity.
"Hyde, you useless bastard! He finally got caught!"
Loras was certain Hyde's cover had been blown and pandemonium had broken out. And privately, he was delighted.
If that Hyde bastard gets captured and dies—or gets castrated—right here?
Perfect.
Apparently everyone shared the sentiment, because not a single person suggested going to rescue him.
Then Oscar made a proposal.
"It seems Lord Hyde has been captured. But we are hardly in a position to go after him. Best to free the prisoners as planned and escape."
Oscar had taken the lead, so to speak. No one answered aloud, but their eyes agreed—and in that moment the men felt a burning sense of brotherhood.
I could swear blood brotherhood with every man standing here right now—.
They all thought it, sealing their resolve with a look.
Loras drew his sword and shouted.
"It's a dark night, and for whatever reason there's a fire—the situation favors us. Full frontal breakthrough!"
Swords hissed free of their scabbards. Oscar took up his blade as well. To exploit the chaos, they released every prisoner in the pens and cut down the heretic witches who occasionally pushed their way in, blades flashing with practiced ease.
"Found them! The knights are in the prisoner pens! You bastaaards—hurgh!"
Steel sang. Flesh parted.
The Crescent Moon Sisterhood might have been cruel heretics, but they were no match for knights trained as living weapons. Every time Loras, Tristan, or Baldwin swung a sword, arms and legs fluttered away like torn paper, blood spraying in fountains that soaked the ground.
"Break through and escape!"
In Loras's mind, anything resembling Hyde had long since been erased. Just get out of here as fast as possible— that was the only thought left when—
CRASH!
The log wall of the pen where Loras and the knights had been holding out collapsed as if struck by a battering ram. And through the wreckage stepped a two-meter-tall woman gripping an enormous timber.
"So the intruders are you!"
Could one even call her a woman? Her muscles were those of an enraged rhinoceros; her limbs looked like the support beams of a manor house.
"What fearless little men dare make noise in the presence of Las of Wrath? Oho—so it's you lot. Every last one of you is sentenced to deeeath!!!"
The woman who had named herself Las of Wrath swung the thick log as if it were a light club. The attack generated a massive rush of air; the knights rolled clear in time, but Oscar—a priest by origin—failed to move and took the blow full-on, sent flying.
CRUNCH!
"Gyaaaaah!"
Agony beyond description. Oscar looked down and found his arm and leg twisted into shapes he had never seen on a human body.
"Th-this fucking—! My arm! My leeeeg!"
"Young Master Oscar!!! Everyone, we have to save the young master! Sir Loras! Sir Tristan! Hurry—."
Baldwin, the Archibold family's retainer knight, shouted. But the words never finished.
"Die!"
The log swung again.
A howling arc—then a sickening impact. It obliterated Baldwin's upper body entirely. The knight stood for a moment as nothing but a pair of legs.
"Wh-why are my legs over th—."
Those were Baldwin's last words.
What knight in the world could unleash such savage violence? What hero?
A log is not an object meant to be used as a weapon!
Watching it, Loras and Tristan felt a terror they had never known in their lives. Every assumption, every law of their world, seemed to scramble and shatter at once.
So this was a Great Sin Seat.
"This fucking shiiiiit!!!!!"
"Loras! R-run!"
"Sir Loras! Sir Tristan! Hey! You sons of bitches! Hey!"
Oscar screamed at the knights through his fading consciousness. Men he had, only moments ago, thought of as blood brothers.
Slowly, Oscar moved his hand. He touched the silver cross hanging at his throat. More precisely, it was a silver flute shaped like a cross.
He set it to his lips.
A thin, reedy note spilled from the end of the flute—and Las of Wrath looked at Oscar with her mouth hanging open in a wide grin.
"You're a rather high-ranking little young master, aren't you? I'm curious what kind of scream you'll make. I'll go catch those lively boys first, so you just wait right here."
She ran a thick tongue over her lips as if savoring the thought, then drove her log-sturdy legs into a sprint.
The ground shook. In moments those earth-trembling strides overtook the knights who had been cutting down Sisterhood members as they fled.
"Where do you think you're goooing!!!"
The sound of a log being raised high. That was the last complete memory the knights would ever form.
"Ugh—."
Some time later, Loras opened his eyes. Sturdier than most, he managed to regain consciousness and soon realized he was bound in an open clearing lit by torches.
"What the hell is this shit! Untie me!"
"Handsome blond knight. You're awake. Your seaweed-haired friend was already up. Thanks to you sleeping in, your choice of weapons has been reduced. Don't blame us."
As his vision cleared, he saw a massive woman—easily seven feet tall—lounging on a human chair formed by male slaves on their hands and knees, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. And in front of him, his friend Tristan stood stripped naked, clutching a dagger, trembling as he pointed the blade at Loras.
"L-Loras!"
It was not only Tristan. Loras himself was naked. And before him lay a wooden club and a crude hammer.
"What the fuck, Tristan. What the hell is going on!"
"Haha! Now kill each other! The one who survives, this Las will personally castrate and keep as a slave! Fight half-heartedly and both your balls get crushed until you die!"
"This is my favorite part! Kya-hahahat!"
"Give me the cut-off bits! I need a knight's manhood for a talisman this time!"
Surrounded by the shrieking of torch-bearing women and the hot wind against his bare skin, Loras felt the world tilt. And as an excellent knight, he instinctively understood that he had walked into someone's trap.
This fucking bastard! How long has this been planned? Was he in league with the Crescent Moon Sisterhood from the start? This son of a bitch!
The moment that arrogant, insolent face rose in his mind, a laugh he could not explain burst up from deep in Loras's gut.
"Hahat!"