Chapter 172: Survival and Continuation

The Church naturally would not care about his life or death—Administrator Piero knew this well.

The Monastery possessed the capability to restore the Knight Wolf, whom the Bishop had once declared “unfit to be looked upon,” back to normal. So the half of Piero’s face that had been destroyed by poisoning should also be curable.

When Scholar Rudolf, who oversaw the biological disciplines at the Monastery, came to him requesting death-row prisoners for human dissection, Piero had tested the waters by asking. The reply had been affirmative—yet when Piero had pleaded for treatment, Rudolf merely smiled and changed the subject.

From that moment, Piero understood clearly—he was kept alive only because he was still useful. That was why he had not been killed like that woman, Yara.

Piero had once hesitated over whether he should give up his power and beg for the Bishop’s mercy.

But he soon abandoned the thought. He could not be certain that surrendering his power would ensure his treatment, and he was unwilling to part with his current authority—even if keeping it might cost him his life.

So he had simply smiled and refrained from provoking them further.

“They’re merely people abandoned by the Church for their own thirst for power,” he said. “Everything they seek is also power, but the current share of power has already been divided up. If they want to seize authority, they can only—must only—strike at our existing power structure.”

True, the current officials were just barely sufficient in number, yet even those slivers of authority in the cracks had already been delegated. Naturally, the seats of power were saturated.

“Since there’s no place for them within the current framework, we’ll create new positions for them,” Piero said.

The three understood his meaning. Puniel’s expression eased slightly, Baron Jeffrey Sacker looked thoughtful, while Bevan Morton frowned and asked:

“But how can you be sure they’ll go there?” Bevan looked at Piero.

“The commoners and local gentry there are still ignorant. This year, they haven’t even sown crops. Come spring, they’ll face food shortages—and there are also werewolves present.

“How many warriors does the Church have? With only the Church’s strength, clearing those werewolves is not something that can be done in a short time.

“That place is now a ruin. After having seen the appearance and prosperity of York Town, will they be willing to start again from nothing, beginning with reshaping their thoughts?

“Like you said, they’re just youths under sixteen.”

Even they had to admit that, while York Town might have made life less comfortable for these former upper-class powerholders, for the middle and lower classes, it was already no less than the Heavenly Kingdom on Earth described in the Holy Scriptures.

Here, every household’s cellar was filled with food; no one had to fear being killed without cause by gentry nobles, for laws protected them; if they fell ill, Church priests and monks would treat them—though it was only basic care, it was still far better than leaving one’s survival to chance. Furthermore, the Castlelot Market allowed commoners to access more valuable luxuries, even armor and weapons.

Some common-born men had saved up money, longing for the glory of the Church’s returning expeditionary forces in the past, and had bought armor and weapons to become free warriors.

They wandered the Castlelot Market—waiting for the Church’s summons, for the town to recruit soldiers, to take escort jobs, or to spar and train with fellow free warriors.

For the middle and lower classes, everyone carried hopes in their hearts.

Though these hopes came at the cost of the nobles’ and gentry officials’ interests.

But living in such an environment, Bevan did not believe that these apprentices—who were still essentially at the bottom, merely touching the threshold of power thanks to the Church—would willingly go north to open up wasteland.

That was no place where one could rely on a mouth, a copy of the Holy Scriptures, and a title alone. There were wandering werewolves, gentry not yet crushed by the Church, and lands beyond the Church’s armed reach.

Piero smiled but did not answer. Instead, he said, “They have received the Lord’s Blessing from the Church, learned precious knowledge under His gaze. They ought to use that knowledge to spread the Lord’s mercy and compassion, to aid those in suffering, to let them feel the Lord’s love and welcome His teachings.”

At that moment, Piero’s expression was calm; even with half a hideous face, he appeared almost merciful—more benevolent than the Church’s own priests and monks.

“If you can do it, this is indeed a good proposal,” Bevan nodded, leaning back against the chair back.

“I will handle this matter,” Piero said, then turned to Puniel. “Although Knight Wolf controls the territory’s military, you know well—since he announced he would remain in the Church’s Hospital, he has obeyed only the Church.

“In this regard, we can see him as part of the Church’s armed forces. But the Church draws a clear line between what belongs to the Church and what belongs to the territory.

“Up to now, only forces officially entered into the Church’s rolls are recognized—Guardian Knights, Temple Warriors, the conscripted warriors of Glory Fortress, and priests and monks.

“So, though Knight Wolf won’t be going on this expedition, he’s not someone I can command.

“And those Honorary Knights will not obey the orders of senators either.”

At the mention of Honorary Knights, Bevan’s face darkened, Puniel looked even more angered, while only Baron Jeffrey Sacker’s expression was slightly better.

The Church’s conferral of knighthood on George had not counted toward his quota of knights.

Ignoring their faces, Piero continued, “So, to open up enough land, we’ll need to recruit free warriors, and we’ll need warriors led by knights.”

“So you want me to go on the expedition?” Puniel asked.

He was the only one among them who had reached knightly rank—and the only one who had held out against Wolf for a time.

“Your bravery earned even Knight Wolf’s praise,” Piero said with a slight bow.

As the only baron among the three to have caused Wolf some trouble, Puniel’s fortress had eventually fallen. Wolf had praised his valor—then slaughtered his entire family, leaving only Puniel and his legitimate eldest son.

Killing nobles was troublesome—only nobles could kill nobles, that was tradition. But killing a noble’s entire family posed no major problem. To avoid driving Puniel to desperation, Wolf had even “kindly” spared his heir.

But of course, after praising his courage, Wolf had left him with very few men.

Thus, hearing Piero’s words—which might have been praise or mockery—Puniel said coldly, “If you’re not afraid I’ll set up my own rule there.”

“If you can truly stand on your own there, I will bless you,” Piero replied, his smile widening.

“Hmph…” Puniel snorted, then said, “I’ll need at least three hundred men, all with leather armor and weapons.”

“I think Baron Belair will be delighted to provide the gold once he hears the news,” Piero said.

By law, aside from knights and lords being able to conscript militia, senators like them had to spend gold to hire warriors.

And hiring three hundred battle-ready men was no small sum.

“I’ll go to him,” Puniel replied.

With the main matters decided, none of them had any interest in polite greetings.

Whether they were busy or not was beside the point—they simply disliked each other.

After leaving the Senate Hall, Baron Jeffrey Sacker slipped into a somewhat hidden alley. He dropped a note onto the ground, then turned to leave.

But before he had gone far, he spotted Puniel standing in the shadows, eyes fixed on him.

Jeffrey smiled faintly and walked over without hesitation.

Seeing him follow, Puniel turned and led him into a dim, cramped room.

“You sent our conversation to the Church,” Puniel said first, his voice firm.

“Bevan did the same, and Piero would never dare hide anything from the Church,” Jeffrey replied, still smiling.

“What’s your stance?” Puniel’s tone pressed him.

Jeffrey’s smile faded. He sighed. “Puniel, for people like us, what stance do we really have?

“We’re just playing the roles they want us to play.

“Look at the Holy Scriptures—how many sins written there have we committed? Even if the Church says one day they won’t pursue the past, would you believe it?

“And the Church has even taken in the Nation Founding Manifesto of those mad dogs from the Theocracy, displaying it openly in the library. It says plainly to kill all of us nobles—that only when we’re gone can the Heavenly Kingdom on Earth arrive.

“With such a Church, who can predict its attitude toward us?

“Until we see through the fog of the future, we must simply play our roles—just like you, now playing the part of one yearning for freedom and dissatisfied with the Church.

“We three keep each other in check; we three and Piero keep each other in check; we three plus Piero and the local gentry keep each other in check; and we three plus Piero plus the local gentry keep the apprentices of the Monastery in check.

“Only in this way—everyone playing their roles—can the balance be maintained, allowing the Church to influence events while remaining above it all.

“And as for Piero’s suggestion for you to lead warriors to the marquisate—who knows if that isn’t the Church’s own idea?

“Think back—once, the Church used our noble status to create great glory. Since then, the people of York Territory have yearned for that day’s spectacle to return.

“Winter should have them huddled at home, hiding from the ice and snow—but their passion for battle and glory is so hot it could melt the frost.

“And such burning fervor must be released. But these lads can’t endure some of the Church’s commandments.”

As nobles, they knew—these hot-blooded young men, under the pressures of war, would eventually snap.

Rape, plunder, slaughter—these were things they would certainly commit under such strain.

Especially since this would be a long war, not just one or two months.

“So you want me to lead them to their deaths?” Puniel asked through gritted teeth, anger in his voice.

“He never said that,” Jeffrey replied.

“And how is that any different from sending me to die?” Puniel’s face was dark. “Even if they’re just dumb dogs, Baron Belair has four knights under him, nearly eight hundred armored warriors, and can raise more than two thousand in defense. Yet even so, he was beaten by the werewolves into asking York Territory for aid.

“Without my household guard and knights, commanding three hundred temporary recruits is my limit. But what can one knight and three hundred warriors accomplish on such a vast battlefield?”

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