Chapter 205: Holy Grail

Merely the people driven to the camp’s vicinity numbered over ten thousand. Even though they were all just ordinary folk, if they suddenly went mad and charged the camp, it would still cause massive casualties.

Thus, although Puniel did not decisively send them away due to the Church personnel issue, he still had several knights take turns monitoring them. That was why, when he heard some commotion outside, his heart instantly tightened.

However, before he could summon his squire, he saw a flock of white doves escorting a cup and a book flying in.

The cup appeared to be cast from gold, shaped like a short-stemmed goblet.

Once they placed the cup down, the doves collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.

“This is… a Holy Relic?” Vito was somewhat surprised.

Compared to keeping his eyes locked on Oscar to prevent him from writing nonsense, Vito had actually read some of the Church’s classics in the library, so he knew about the Church’s Holy Relics.

However, he only knew of its existence. He didn’t even know its name. Like the birdcage and the shovel, this Holy Relic was simply called “the cup.”

Sensing that knights outside had stepped in and were calming the situation, Puniel no longer paid attention to the commotion outside. He sat down, studied the cup, and hesitantly said, “…So it’s this thing. I see. If it’s this, then it might actually work…”

Marl’s stiff expression turned to Puniel. “Sir Puniel knows of this?”

Marl’s meaning was, of course, not whether Puniel knew this specific Holy Relic, but whether he knew its prior usage and purpose.

Puniel nodded, organized his words, and continued, “When this Holy Relic fell into the hands of those evil vampires, the Vampire Lord would use it to control other vampires.”

Although he had dealt with the Dark Creatures of the Northwind Mountains even before joining the Senate and had known of the vampires’ sacred object, he was not foolish enough to bring that up at this time.

Puniel went on, “Vampires wield blood magic. Even low-ranked vampires can replace all the blood in their bodies to break free from the suppression imposed by their bloodline’s rank. So, to better control his subordinates, a Vampire Lord would use the Holy Relic to pour his own will into the will of low-ranked vampires, achieving a complete grip over their minds.”

“Previously, the werewolves, under the suppression of bloodline rank, unlocked their bloodline’s full power, which strengthened them greatly. But for vampires, bloodline rank suppression means absolute obedience of will.”

“And now, these people are nothing but shells, without self-awareness. If we used the power of this Holy Relic to plant a fragment of will within them, perhaps they could recover.”

“But after recovery, their consciousness would be newborn. Only a small number would retain fragments of their old memories, and even if they did, they wouldn’t feel any emotional connection to them.”

So—would such a restoration still count as saving the original person?

Or was it merely using these physical shells as seedbeds for new people to be born from?

Puniel did not voice this. He did not care about such matters. For nobles, the only distinction was whether a person was alive or dead, and whether they had value.

The tent fell silent. Everyone understood this truth.

George slowly spoke, “Such memories… I don’t think anyone would want to remember them.”

He made the judgment.

Marl followed with, “And the method of using this Holy Relic? Does Sir Puniel know it?”

Puniel answered, “Infuse it with fresh blood, then let a person drink it all. The will of the blood’s owner will be implanted within.”

As he spoke, Puniel glanced at Marl, then swept his gaze over the grim-faced Leo and Vito, finally resting his eyes on George.

“And each time you plant a will, it will tear at the blood owner’s will. Thus, even Vampire Lords would at most create nine thralls in their lifetime. After that, those first-generation thralls would control the second generation, the second the third, and so on.”

“But now, there are over eighteen thousand people here. That means more than eighteen thousand cups of blood would be needed. And because they are too pure, they would be greatly influenced by the implanted will in the future. Therefore, the purer the person, the better.”

“My warriors are not pure people. Their desires are strong—gold, glory, women—these are their wants. My knights are not pure either—glory, loyalty, faith—these too are their desires.”

His voice quieted. He lifted a cup of rye beer and slowly savored it.

Julian frowned, glanced at George, then relaxed his brows and lowered his gaze.

Leo and Vito stared at the Holy Relic cup, estimating how much blood it could hold and how many cups they could fill from their own bodies. They shivered and stopped thinking about it.

Marl closed his eyes.

The doves, having recovered, hopped to Marl’s side and pecked at the grains scattered before them.

George took a deep breath and said, “Then let it be my blood.”

“This body received a miracle from the Lord. Perhaps it was so that I could make this choice now.”

Julian remained silent. Puniel let out a laugh and looked to Marl.

Marl opened his eyes. “I will watch you. If your body cannot endure, you will have to stop.”

George nodded. “Please, Priest Marl, wait until I truly reach my limit.”

He then turned to Leo and Vito. “I ask the two knights to help me draw the blood.”

They looked troubled but, under George’s gaze, nodded.

Seeing their resolve, Puniel added, “Then I will ask Knight Julian to maintain order. I will also have the logistics prepare more blood-replenishing food in the coming days.”

Puniel rose and left. Julian nodded and followed him out.

Only the Church’s people remained in the tent. Marl’s expression was no longer stiff; his eyes were complicated as he looked at George. “I have tried many ways. They cannot be stirred in the slightest. Scholar Rudolf judged that they are, in truth, already dead—more than the undead, only their flesh remains active.”

George shook his head. “What I see is that they are still alive, still acting to survive. I cannot touch their souls, but I believe they are victims. And now, their actions tell me they want to live. So I will help them.”

“That is merely the instinct to survive,” Marl said.

George replied, “Their instinct is still the desire to live.”

Marl sighed. “Since you’ve decided, start tomorrow. You need to keep your body in the best condition possible.”

George nodded.

…

The next day, nearly a hundred people drank the cup of blood in George’s tent.

When the third person drank, Knight Julian left to patrol the lined-up queues outside. Each person who drank would be draped in coarse linen and led to a newly cleared camp.

An hour later, Puniel left George’s tent. These days, he had stopped eating meat and drinking honey wine, eating only white bread.

Three hours later, Marl left for the main tent to pray beneath the cross.

By dusk, Leo and Vito emerged with blank faces, bloodstained, and the day’s work stopped.

On the second day, Leo and Vito refused to enter, leaving George to draw his own blood. Only seventy or so drank that day.

On the third day, faint groans of pain came from the tent. Only fifty or so drank. The servant delivering food wore a look of fear and aversion.

On the fourth day, George’s screams could no longer be suppressed—hoarse, desperate wails. Marl personally delivered his meals.

On the fifth day, George’s cries were dry and sharp. A larger shipment of supplies arrived. Marl sought Puniel for a brief talk.

“He is nearing his limit,” Marl said. “His body is emaciated. His wrists and neck bear cut marks. His hair is dull, the gold fading, streaked with silver. Even if he is blessed by the Lord, this pain—body and soul—cannot be adapted to. It is pure pain.”

Puniel said, “Now there are thirteen thousand of these people left. This is the final number. No more survive elsewhere. And each day, nearly a thousand die from eating one another.”

“In these five days, George has given only three hundred people the blood to drink,” Marl noted.

“That is already a great feat. Vampires dare give only nine cups,” Puniel replied.

“He is a noble knight,” Marl said.

“Yes. My knights and warriors admire him. His story should be sung. But hearing his agonized cries hurts morale. I will have the knights take the warriors out to widen the werewolf-clearing range,” Puniel said.

“And who will tend to these people?”

“Knight Julian will see to it,” Puniel assured.

Marl nodded.

On the sixth day, George’s screams quieted. Only ten drank.

On the seventh day, George fell unconscious and did not draw blood.

On the eighth day, George awoke and gave seventy cups. The tent was eerily quiet. Marl again went to Puniel.

“Sir Puniel, are you preparing to withdraw?”

“This place has been swept over ten times. In the last two days, no werewolf has been found. We’ll move north. I have ordered Knight Andy to garrison Graywind Fortress with two hundred warriors. It’s close enough to support here at any time. Now, with just over ten thousand left, Knight Julian and a hundred men can maintain order—plus you and the Church’s warriors are here,” Puniel said.

Marl was silent for a moment. “The air here is dry. Fires start easily.”

Puniel paused in thought. “You’re right, Priest. I’ll have them take precautions so the supplies don’t burn.”

Marl nodded and left.

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