Chapter 183: Bloodline of the Patriarch

“He was trading with the Werewolves. He wanted their help to become a noble, and in exchange, he was willing to serve the Wolf King as a human noble.”

“Vito and I were both furious. I wanted to kill him on the spot, but Vito stopped me.”

“He said he knew I was angry, and he was angry too. But only through Flint’s deal with the Werewolves could we protect more commoners. If we killed him, not only would we be killed by the Werewolves, but these civilians would also be slaughtered. So we held back, pretended not to know, and continued cooperating with him.”

“And it was only after that day that we realized why we often happened to rescue people captured by Werewolves, and why—despite being in an area ravaged by Werewolves—we were still able to gradually grow the population of Sanctuary Town to its current scale.”

“It was because of that that we decided to reject his proposal by throwing branches. Also, Flint was only able to obtain the position of Sanctuary Town’s administrator as a Priest because of the Lord’s Faith. So when we told some military leaders and supporting administrators that it was the Lord’s Revelation, he was ultimately unable to become a noble.”

“But recently, he has grown impatient. The number of nearby Werewolves has increased. Without Vito and me leading the squads, most warriors who go out get attacked by Werewolves. In the end, all the Werewolves get wiped out, but only one warrior survives and returns.”

After finishing, Leo sighed, sat upright, and continued asking, “Knight George, are the warriors led by Monk Marl all Temple Warriors?”

George, now understanding the reason, shook his head and said, “No, they are just ordinary Conscripted Warriors. The number of Temple Warriors has not increased.”

“I see…” Leo seemed a little disappointed.

“If they were all Temple Warriors, we could at least take a gamble, break out from here, and return to York Territory.”

“Even if many die, it’s still better than being quasi-captive livestock under the Werewolves here.”

George looked at the disappointed Leo and smiled, saying, “This time, the Bishop’s command is to expel and purify these Werewolves. There’s no way we’re simply going to retreat.”

Leo shook his head with a sigh. “Although Flint is greedy, he wasn’t wrong. Just you and Marl’s group alone are far too powerless in this Nation of Werewolves.”

His voice was weary. He understood the state of the Church. To dispatch such manpower in just half a year was already extremely difficult.

“But I was only talking about those directly dispatched by the Church,” George said with a smile.

Leo froze and looked at George.

“In addition to the Church’s direct forces, there is also a Baron leading over five hundred warriors, and nine Knights each with their own squires.”

“They’re currently regrouping in Baron Belair’s territory—yes, the noble whose land was invaded by the Werewolves.”

“Although we haven’t received the Bishop’s latest message, I estimate that once they finish regrouping, there could be more than ten Knights and over a thousand warriors.”

“They will all follow the Bishop’s guidance and drive the Werewolves out.”

As George spoke, Leo’s expression shifted—from shock, to joy, to astonishment.

“Our Church can go this far now?!” Leo asked in disbelief.

To him, the past months had felt like forever, yet it had only been a little over half a year since he left the Church.

And in that time, the Church had grown to command more than ten Knights and over a thousand warriors—more power than a typical Viscount.

Perhaps calling it command might be imprecise, but as George said, they were following the Bishop’s guidance.

If the Church truly had come this far, then surely it was the Lord’s miracle.

He thought.

“Though the number of people directly belonging to the Church isn’t far from what you know, the influence of the Lord’s Faith has already spread throughout the entire York Territory,” George said, looking at the disbelieving Leo.

“If you were to return to York Territory now, you might not even recognize it as the place where we grew up,” George added with a sigh.

He himself had only been away for a little over two months but already felt a sense of unfamiliarity.

After that, he had seen it with his own eyes—York Territory changed every ten days.

Leo didn’t know what the Church had done in York Territory, but he knew George. He knew George followed the Holy Scriptures and was a devout Believer. That meant George wouldn’t lie, and everything he said must be true.

He stood up excitedly and began pacing back and forth.

“If that’s the case, that’s truly great. Vito will be thrilled to hear this news. We can go back—not just that—we can actually drive these Werewolves out.”

He mumbled, then suddenly paused, the excitement on his face slowly fading.

“If Captain Hode heard this, he’d be delighted too.”

But at this point, neither of them held hope that Hode was still alive.

Seeing Leo like this, George hesitated but eventually said, “Hode… the Bishop once said he is still alive…”

Hearing George’s words, Leo froze, then suppressed his excitement and said, “…Captain Hode is alive?!”

He didn’t really doubt George’s words.

It was the Bishop, after all. Even he and Vito could receive the Lord’s Revelation—let alone the esteemed Bishop.

“Hack has also gone on the expedition with Marl. You can go look for Hode together when the time comes,” George continued.

“He’s still alive, that’s wonderful, truly wonderful…”

Leo paced excitedly, murmuring.

George just watched, a faint smile on his face.

He could feel how much pressure Leo had been holding in.

……

On the shores of Lake Salvador, Marl, who had been mentioned earlier, led his squad and encountered a group of Werewolves that had raided humans.

“…The Lord of Hosts is with you!” Marl stood before the cross of the Lord’s Throne and cried out loudly.

“Warrrrr!” The thirty Conscripted Warriors in the front row roared and charged without formation.

Naturally, they were only facing around thirty Werewolves—wearing cotton armor inside, chainmail on the upper body, and holding shields and fine weapons. As long as they didn’t retreat or expose their backs, they could easily slaughter the Werewolves.

Some even feared they’d charge too slowly and miss their chance to kill.

Killing Werewolves earned merit.

That was what Marl had told them when they first set foot in the Nation of Werewolves.

For every Werewolf slain, they’d accumulate merit. After this battle, if their merits were sufficient, they’d have a chance to become a Temple Warrior. And if they didn’t want that, they could exchange their merits for gold coins—or even have a Priest bestow a Blessing on their child.

They wanted the gold coins, but not that badly. After all, being conscripted by the Church meant receiving gold coins monthly—a wage sufficient to support their families in comfort.

But more than gold, they yearned for the Priest’s Blessing and the opportunity to become Temple Warriors.

So to them, these Werewolves weren’t threats—they were Blessings from the Lord.

And the Werewolves had no art of war. Their nature dictated that their only battle tactic was a full-on charge.

Thus, the leading Upper-Ranked Werewolf roared, and his followers charged. Even those who hesitated lost all rationality under his pressure and howled into the assault.

The Upper-Ranked Werewolf didn’t move. He just stared past the human warriors toward the Lord’s Throne and the cross—and Marl standing beneath it.

“That’s the cross the King spoke of…” he muttered in the Werewolves’ tongue.

Then his gaze turned to the clash between human warriors and the lower Werewolves.

At the moment of impact, the Werewolves’ fierce roars turned into howling screams.

Without hesitation, the Upper-Ranked Werewolf dropped the captured humans, abandoned his subordinates, and fled.

“He didn’t come after me,” Marl said, a little disappointed.

Had the Werewolf tried to charge and kill the commander first, then even an Upper-Ranked Werewolf would’ve been torn apart by the Temple Warriors protecting the Lord’s Throne.

An Upper-Ranked Werewolf was only equal to a Knight. But even a fully armed Knight without a squire or soldiers would be slain by more than a dozen fully armed Temple Warriors, all rated as Upper Warriors.

Besides, when he ordered the charge, he hadn’t even used Blessing.

Having read the Burke Manuscript of Nyx, he wouldn’t waste Blessing to boost morale in such a one-sided situation.

If the Werewolf had really charged, he’d have used Divine Word, which he had prepared.

This was his first time encountering a large Werewolf unit with his warriors. The scattered ones they met before didn’t even need a speech—Conscripted Warriors just killed them.

So he had never truly used Divine Word on Dark Creatures before.

After the battle, he sent two Temple Warriors to count the Conscripted Warriors’ merits.

Though they believed in the Lord, Marl never relied solely on Faith to sustain the warriors’ will to fight.

He believed those who fought bravely must be rewarded. That aligned with the Lord’s Teachings, and the warriors deserved it.

And these weren’t Temple Warriors. To Temple Warriors—those who wholly served the Lord—using merit as motivation would be an insult.

Under the protection of two Temple Warriors, Marl approached the humans who had been plundered by the Werewolves.

There were about twenty, all women and children. Their eyes were wary as they looked at Marl.

“I am a Priest of the Church of the Sanctuary, from Glory Fortress. I came to drive out the Werewolves. You are safe now,” he said.

After his words, the people looked stunned, then exchanged glances. Most eyes settled on one girl.

She wore a brown, tattered robe, seemingly hiding something inside. Her face and hair were dusty, her body thin—clearly not well-fed.

Her eyes showed both caution and curiosity. She clutched her robe tightly, as if concealing something inside.

“Looks like you’re the leader?” Marl asked, a bit puzzled. “But aren’t you too young?”

From her appearance and build, she seemed only about fourteen—around his wife’s age.

“I’m already fifteen!” she responded. “I’m not their leader. I’m from the Church Nation, following the instructions of the Three Sages to study at the Church of the Sanctuary in York Territory.”

“It’s just that their leader and the men were all killed, so I hid with them for a while.”

Marl suddenly understood. “So that’s how it is. You’re from the Church Nation.”

“Darks—oh, how is your Patriarch now?” he asked.

“The Patriarch is well, very powerful. He is campaigning against the heretics. He’s the one who sent me here,” she replied with reverence in her eyes. “I’m even carrying a child with the Patriarch’s bloodline.”

She touched her abdomen. Though malnourished, her still youthful face bore a trace of maternal warmth.

Marl felt a slow-rising question in his heart.

He clearly remembered how large Darks’ body had been—and how frail the girl before him was.

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