Chapter 204: Give Them Mercy

The grand cremation—that was to burn, all at once, at least fifteen thousand people, and that number was still steadily increasing.

Burn them alive.

So when Vito spoke these words, he could barely bring himself to say them aloud.

“I suggested to Sir Puniel that we let them live or die on their own, but Sir Puniel told me that hunger would awaken their survival instincts. Given their current condition and the state of this land, they could not possibly obtain food. In the end, they would only turn on their own companions, and then…”

At this point, Vito sighed.

“Puniel told me he knew we were merciful enough, but for such empty shells who couldn’t even feel pain, granting them death outright would be the greatest mercy.”

George was silent for a moment before speaking. “Do you agree with him?”

Vito merely looked at George, then said, “I released a white dove to send a message to the Bishop. So many lives—this is not a decision I can make.”

After a pause, he added, “But in just these past three days, those people have already resorted to feeding several times.”

“The supplies Sir Puniel brought are only enough for the more than two thousand warriors. Facing fifteen thousand people, there’s no way to meet their need for food. Not even watering it down would work—their bodily instincts demand eating until full.”

“And Sir Puniel would never allow us to do such a thing. The warriors’ provisions are the most important thing right now. He would not permit us to take from them for the sake of such a group.”

The two fell silent again.

This was the northern part of the Marquis’ territory. Even at a white dove’s speed, flying from here to the Church and back would take five days under good conditions.

But… that was only under ordinary circumstances.

Could the Bishop be viewed through ordinary logic?

Obviously not—just as before, when George had only formed the thought of asking the Bishop, the very next moment he received the Bishop’s reply.

Vito had not experienced it himself, but he knew of the Bishop’s mystery.

Thus, both men understood—in the current situation, it seemed they would have to decide for themselves.

While they were still silent, the earlier page came running in. “Knight Vito, Priest Marl has woken.”

Vito looked over and nodded. “I understand. Please bring Priest Marl some meat broth first. I’ll go see him shortly.”

The attendant left, and Vito turned back to George.

George asked, “Knight Vito, do you have a decision in mind?”

From Puniel’s attitude alone, it was clear—if the Church took responsibility, he would not intervene; but if the Church refused, he would not mind acting the butcher.

Vito lowered his head, sighed, and said, “Forgive me, Knight George. I am a weak man. I cannot bring myself to decide—whether to send them on their way, or to take responsibility for their future.”

George closed his eyes.

…

The night sky here was shrouded in clouds, without the faintest glimmer of light.

Because of this, the knights who had gone out to hunt werewolves were gradually returning.

Now it was enough to clean up the werewolves step by step—there was no need to risk pursuing in the pitch-black night.

Torches burned in the camp; warriors ate their rations and discussed the werewolves they had slain and the rewards they had been promised.

Inside the command tent sat Sir Puniel, Priest Marl, three knights of the Church of the Sanctuary, and Knight Julian.

At the head seat stood the Lord’s Throne and the cross upon it. The group sat directly on the ground over a layer of cloth, with hastily made wooden bowls of meat broth before them.

“Knight George is finally awake. I have long heard your stories—even Knight Julian has praised you often,” Sir Puniel greeted.

George glanced at Knight Julian, who responded with a smile.

Several layers of bandages had been removed from his body—at least enough not to hinder simple movement.

George nodded back and said, “I heard from Knight Vito—thank you for your help.”

“It was only my duty. In fact, I should thank you for breaking the werewolves’ formation, which allowed me to lead my men in to kill them.”

After that, Julian said no more—at least, during this core York Territory meeting, he was not of high enough rank to speak.

He was also wondering why he had been invited here at all.

It had been Puniel who invited him.

After a brief exchange with Julian, George turned directly to Puniel. “I heard from Knight Vito—you plan to burn all those people to death.”

“We cannot feed them. Priest Marl has already tried, but there is no way to grant them redemption,” Puniel answered without concealment, then looked at Marl.

The latter’s expression was vacant, stiff, with a faint golden light flickering in the center of his pupils.

Having read the Burke Manuscript, George knew—he was under influence.

Puniel continued, “So, rather than watching them turn on each other, it’s better to give them mercy.”

George was silent for a moment, then said, “I’d like to try.”

Puniel said casually, “That’s fine. I expect to stay here for at least three months. If you want to give up during that time, you can come to me anytime.”

Then he added, “According to my warriors’ reports, the total number was around twenty-two thousand. These past two days, after they began starving, the number should be around eighteen thousand.”

George asked, “Can food be brought in from the York Territory?”

Puniel replied, “You may write and ask. Although I am a senator, I have no authority to use the York Territory’s grain reserves. Even the warriors’ supplies are carefully calculated and dispatched from the rear.”

George fell silent—he did not need to calculate to know how much food eighteen thousand people would consume, especially since Vito had told him they had to eat their fill.

Even the lowest-grade black bread, at such numbers, would be consumed at a terrifying rate.

And anything that could truly fill bellies would be meat—but over the past two years, animals fit for meat in York Territory and these lands had become scarce.

George knew the York Territory’s senate had already called for rationing meat.

Of course, the York Territory was green land—if forced, it could sustain eighteen thousand mouths on black bread alone. But George had no money to buy it, and was ashamed to ask the Bishop for funds.

And most importantly—he did not know how long he would need to supply them.

Puniel added, “They’ll also need clothes to withstand the cold, and houses to shield from wind and rain. In the current situation, we don’t have the manpower to care for them.”

“They can’t work, can’t produce, and live in a haze. Can you, Knight George, tend to them all alone? Right now we still have a shortage of lower officials, and most of these people are women—indeed, nearly all are of childbearing age. The werewolves fed them well, and once cleaned up, they’ll be tempting to lustful young men. I wouldn’t dare leave maintaining order to you alone—these past two days, I’ve already executed a few soldiers who couldn’t control themselves.”

“They were once the werewolves’ servants—no one can guarantee there are no reproductive problems. And unlike the knights and Temple Warriors here, these young men cannot restrain themselves without strict military law and punishment.”

“…” George stayed silent, as did Leo and Vito.

They had thought of many methods in recent days, but each had been rejected by themselves.

When Puniel finished speaking, he drank honey wine—noble as he was, he would not deny himself at the war’s close.

Knight Julian only observed the tent’s atmosphere. His werewolf-expulsion mission was complete—he was even thinking of laying down his knighthood and moving to York Town.

As for how to handle these people, he didn’t care—it wasn’t his concern. But if pressed for an opinion, he leaned toward Puniel’s idea of giving them mercy.

Just then, the vacant-faced Marl spoke. “I will request food from the Bishop. I heard scholars say that York Territory had a surplus harvest, and with southern trade cut off, not eating it would be a waste.”

Everyone looked over.

Puniel set down his cup. “Priest Marl, have you recovered?”

Marl replied, “Almost. Thank you, Sir Puniel, for your help.”

Puniel waved a hand. “Priest Marl is my friend—it’s only right.”

Marl said, “If your blows were a bit lighter, I’d be even more grateful.”

Puniel merely chuckled twice.

That Marl could joke at all showed he was indeed recovering.

After the laugh, Puniel said, “The Bishop’s mercy will certainly be granted. But transporting food for eighteen thousand people would itself cause great loss, and the direct road here isn’t yet built. Even if York Territory gathered resources now, the fastest delivery would still take half a month.”

“And no one knows how long such a supply must last. With the current population, land conditions, and birth rates, these mouths could eventually eat us into collapse.”

Vito suddenly spoke. “York Territory is building a port. Once it’s done, food can come by water.”

The others in the tent looked toward Vito—even the vacant-faced Marl.

Vito recalled the apprentices’ words. “By water, even crossing Lake Salvador diagonally, it would take only a day.”

“That would reduce transport losses.”

Puniel nodded, then added, “But once it reaches the shore near here, it still has to travel overland.”

Marl interjected, “We could resettle them by the lake. While clearing along the shore, I found a spot suited for a port—they could live there.”

Puniel laughed. “A fine idea—if they could walk there. Our warriors have been herding them like sheep to this spot. From here to the lake would take at least five days. We don’t have herdsmen that skilled.”

The tent fell into silence again.

Then, from outside, came a commotion.

Puniel abruptly rose, face grave.

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