Chapter 107
Chapter 107
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 107
Chapter Title: Sail Kingdom Civil War (4)
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“What the hell…”
Henrik was in utter agony.
From the moment he'd been kidnapped right up until now, the torture had been relentless.
His face was grotesquely swollen and caked in blood, while the sharp glint in his eyes had faded into exhaustion.
Torn scraps of clothing revealed wounds beneath.
“Ugh…”
The pain was unbearable.
For the longtime head butler serving Count Beaton, this was a suffering unlike any he'd known.
He wanted to scream from the torment, but he couldn't muster the voice.
That brutal ogre would grab his head and subject him to endless waterboarding. Once that ended, it would pummel his entire body with its enormous fists.
Such agony repeated until breathing became a struggle.
His gasps came in ragged, irregular bursts without end.
He'd screamed himself hoarse long ago.
‘How much time has passed?’
It felt like ages, but he couldn't say for sure.
Above all, why did he have to endure this?
Henrik couldn't comprehend it.
But one thing was clear: more of this torture, and he'd be in real danger.
Convinced he might actually die at this rate, Henrik squeezed out every last ounce of strength and forced his mouth open.
“Please… please spare me…! I'm gonna die!”
Was it that final, desperate cry wrung from his dying breath?
The ogre, mid-motion, froze in place.
“What do, Left. Human. Can't die.”
The head on the ogre's right side—'Right'—spoke up with an anxious look.
The manager's orders had been to torment the human, not kill him.
“Don't worry, Right. I'll ask the manager.”
“Oh! Trust you, Left!”
With those words, the ogre lumbered away.
His tormentor gone, Henrik let out a sigh of relief.
‘At least a moment's rest.’
A massive blob of water—the water spirit—hovered beside where the ogre had been, but it seemed harmless enough.
In fact, throughout the torture, the spirit hadn't stirred once.
Henrik drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. A sliver of calm settled over him.
His mind steadier, he turned his thoughts to whoever—or whatever—had put him in this mess.
‘What the hell are they?’
The woman disguised as a maid aside, an ogre and a water spirit?
‘This is no ordinary dungeon.’
Henrik had served Count Beaton for years.
He wasn't an expert on monsters and dungeons, but he knew enough.
And no dungeon he knew looked like this.
‘Dungeon monsters pulling off kidnappings?’
He knew full well this wasn't remotely normal.
If monsters could act so freely, Sail Kingdom would've fallen to them ages ago.
‘And the dungeon itself—far too pristine.’
He'd first assumed it was just a cave dungeon. But closer inspection revealed otherwise.
The walls weren't jagged and rough; they were smooth, almost polished.
Like someone had meticulously shaped them by hand.
‘A high-grade dungeon…’
The worst-case scenario he'd hoped to avoid.
Even now, the monster had left him under guard.
‘Meaning, no escaping this place.’
Henrik stole a glance at the water spirit.
It remained utterly still, holding its post.
Even if he bolted right now, it wouldn't just sit there.
But Henrik slowly shook his head.
‘No. Fleeing here's a mistake. My body's in no shape to run anyway.’
He had no clue how vast this dungeon was—and the torture had left him wrecked.
Get caught fleeing on a whim, and death was certain.
Still, piecing it together gave him one solid certainty.
‘Someone's pulling the strings.’
Why else target just him, the head butler?
To nobles, even a head butler was disposable.
Ransom? They'd snatch a noble's daughter, not the staff.
‘Noble feud? No way.’
Small territorial skirmishes happened now and then. But always with formal armies—honorable combat.
Honor and justification were sacred to noble warfare.
They'd never resort to something this base.
‘The royals, then?’
High likelihood.
The current king was collateral branch with heavy commoner blood—honor be damned.
Motive lined up perfectly.
Count Beaton, his master, led the noble faction. Natural enemies of the crown.
‘A warning shot from the royals.’
Even a king risked much touching nobles directly.
Hence, kidnapping the butler made sense.
‘This location fits too.’
A national monarch could procure a spot like this effortlessly.
Probably raised the ogre in secret as well.
The woman? Likely some mages' magical construct.
Henrik pegged the odds at fifty-fifty.
The other half? Negative. White Church delegation currently in Sail Kingdom.
Monster husbandry was strictly taboo. Royals caught would've been branded heretics first.
A counterargument, sure—but absolutes didn't exist. If his hunch held, Henrik wouldn't stay silent.
‘If I survive this…! I'll tell His Excellency and the Church everything!’
Besides, the Count and delegation were on close terms.
The banquet he'd prepped before the kidnapping was meant for just that—fostering ties.
Delegation had been here a while with no real engagement.
Chance finally arisen, and this happens.
‘Yes. Definitely the royals.’
No other explanation fit.
Had to block the Count-Church rapport.
Henrik had his conclusion: the royals' doing.
Now, just survive and get back.
Thud… thud…
Lost in thought, footsteps echoed closer.
‘…Torture round two.’
As they drew near, his fleeting resolve crumbled.
Face dunked in the spirit again? The suffocating dread already choked him.
Trembling, steeling himself for the ogre—the footsteps' owner was unexpected.
“Wha… wha…?”
Henrik's eyes bulged; his jaw dropped.
“Why…?”
Not the ogre. Not his kidnapper.
A figure clad in resplendent white armor.
“Why's a Holy Knight… here…?”
Shock overrode pain; he struggled upright.
Undeniably a Holy Knight.
The emblem etched on the armor was pure Church insignia.
Only they bore that mark.
‘But why?’
If truly a Holy Knight, what was this situation?
Henrik's mind reeled.
The vibe screamed not a rescue.
The Holy Knight lounged with homey ease.
‘Like he…’
Belonged here from the beginning.
‘No way the Church…?’
The absolute worst possibility dawned.
‘If this whole thing's the Church's scheme—not the royals?’
As Henrik reeled, the Holy Knight's lips parted.
“May I guide you to the Great One?”
“Really all right just sending him off like this?”
Holy Knight Eric.
Or rather, the banshee puppeteering Eric addressed Celia.
One human snatched and tortured for a day.
Then Eric appeared, exchanged a few words—that was it.
—Swear silence to the Great One and seal those lips, and I'll let you live.
The human had nodded like a madman.
Petrified, vowing never to breathe a word.
Their final exchange.
Chief Manager Celia set him free.
Not quite: knocked out cold, shadow-ported somewhere.
“What if the human spills everything?”
Eric puzzled over the chief's ploy in releasing him outright.
Not doubt.
The chief always delivered miracles, basked in the Great One's favor—pure curiosity.
Celia merely smiled at Eric's query.
“Of course he'll talk. Every last detail.”
“Then why release him at all?”
“That one human will ripple the still pond.”
Celia's answer sailed over Eric's head. No matter—comprehension optional.
Trust and obey sufficed.
“You've had a tough go too, Eric. Still in touch with Vice-Captain Liana?”
Celia turned the question on him.
“Yes, keeping steady contact with Vice-Captain Liana.”
Vice-Captain Liana.
She led White Church's Holy Knight Order.
“Incredible, isn't it? Swaying the order's vice-captain to our side.”
The Great One ensnared her through sheer prowess.
By dispatching the skeleton black knight—or Skeleton Holy Knight 'Maru'.
“Never imagined Maru wielded such power.”
Eric marveled.
An undead bearing holy power—antithetical forces.
The Great One made it possible.
Liana staggered at the sight of holy-infused skeleton Maru.
Deemed it a miracle, pledged to 'our' cause.
'Maru's' more than 'ours', but Maru was the Great One's extension.
Thus, Liana aligned with us—and by proxy, Him.
His blessings didn't stop there.
Chief Celia's petition granted Eric holy power too.
Now he mimicked a Holy Knight flawlessly.
“All as His will dictates. Heh.”
Celia nodded matter-of-factly.
Eric concurred.
To Him, this was trivial.
He gazed realms beyond reckoning.
Plans unfathomable, perhaps.
Eric needed only serve loyally.
“Haha, splendid, isn't it? Quite the spectacle.”
Count Beaton beamed with pride.
As he'd boasted, the mansion brimmed with opulence.
Vibrant ornaments glittered, filling the hall; music and merriment overflowed.
Guests swayed to the tunes, chattering over lavish spreads.
Knights packed inside and out, contingency-ready.
Banquet flawless—he was pleased.
Truly pivotal for Count Beaton.
White Church delegation long in Sail Kingdom, yet no proper mingling till now.
Cursory meets, yes—but first with the delegation's power players.
Those before him no mere priests.
‘Titan, heading the delegation.’
No simple high priest.
Count's digging revealed: ex-Heretic Inquisitor.
True to form, oversaw the inquisitors—Church loyalist to the marrow.
‘Every word a minefield.’
Church Heretic Inquisitors were fearsome.
Defy the faith? Force over parley.
Suspected heretic? A city razed without qualm.
His gaze shifted to the priest's companion.
‘Holy Knight Order Captain Gerard.’
Church's martial arm, in duo before him.
“Come, this roasted fish is divine. Prime catch from Diat Lake. Rarity these days—practically treasure. Hahaha!”
Count redoubled efforts entertaining Titan Priest and Captain Gerard.
Butlers ferried pricey delicacies, vintage wines nonstop.
Everything trending his way—mere pittance investment.
Delegation probed missing priests and knights.
Vast probes yielded zilch.
Hence, this gathering possible.
‘Righto. Kingdom heavyweight like me? Can't probe without. Heh.’
Count smirked inwardly, wine sip.
Stalled probe drove Church to him.
His play: leverage Church against the king.
Sail Kingdom's mood soured.
Daily inquisitor oppression—good vibes? Hardly.
As noble, protocol urged subdued affairs.
Count ignored.
Royals' moods, peasant gripes—irrelevant. He grinned wide.
‘Weather this storm, kingdom's mine—no tiptoeing.’
Status quo forever.
Luck had favored him.
He hadn't started as noble head.
Count Derek originally.
Sudden party bloodbath.
Celia and Princess Irena's doing—unbeknownst to current Count.
‘Idiot spawn.’
Inward gripe, but boon nonetheless.
Derek's frenzy crowned him leader.
Faction wobbled, then stabilized.
Royals? Post-delegation hell.
‘Princess Irena room-bound, king's a figurehead.’
Kingdom soon noble-swung.
He the head? King in all but name.
Scheming veiled by composed facade.
Smooth sailing.
Yet delegation probed kingdom; slip once, all lost.
‘Banquet first.’
Weighty words post-fest. Revel now.
Wine lingering on tongue, a butler sidled up discreetly.
“Count, sir… Head Butler Henrik wishes audience.”
Butler murmured.
“Henrik?”
Why summon now?
Prior report: Henrik vanished.
Delegation arrived—he gone.
Missing mid-prep yesterday, now back?
Irksome, intriguing.
Loyal longtime butler.
‘Knows this seat's gravity.’
Count opted brief exit.
“Haha, pressing matter—moment's absence. Back shortly; dine on.”
“Proceed.”
Titan Priest's curt nod.
Count bowed swift, departed.
“……”
Count away, Titan turned.
“Captain Gerard.”
Priest's tone iced steel.
“Yes, Priest?”
“Notice anything amiss, Captain?”
Titan's face hardened.
He scanned the Count's knights dotting everywhere.
“What shouldn't be here… is.”