Chapter 242: Absolute Punishment

Forth Town, the core town of Viscount Youn, had originally been located on the western side of his territory. But now, under the gradual encroachment of York Territory, Forth Town had become the eastern frontier town.

Viscount Youn’s church still stood outside the town. The land and walls of the church had already been soaked deep red with blood. Merely approaching was enough to smell the thick, nauseating stench of blood.

Most of it came from the blood of the gentry families and minor noble families captured by Viscount Youn when he annexed other small nobles.

Once, Viscount Logan’s Holy Relic had been worshipped by his family for generations, and so his territory had plenty of Faith for the Relic, with enough consumables. But after this Relic became Viscount Youn’s, it could no longer enjoy the fresh blood of loyal believers.

But it did not matter. If the quality was not enough, then quantity would make up for it. One man, ten men, a hundred men, an entire village—unceasing slaughter, endless sacrifices—eventually the Relic would be satisfied.

Thus, along the road of conquest, Viscount Youn sacrificed villages one after another to the Relic.

Back then, he had still needed to weigh matters. But now, those minor nobles and gentry who constantly rebelled drove him beyond tolerance. So whenever he received word that a minor noble or gentry had contacted York Territory, he immediately sent knights to seize their entire families, drag them to the church, kill them one by one, and feed them to the Holy Relic enshrined there.

The blood of such people was of far higher quality than that of commoners.

Of course, though it was said to be enshrined at the church, in truth Viscount Youn always kept the Holy Relic, the Shield of Saron, at his side.

In such urgent circumstances, he dared not leave his strongest power in the church.

Outside the blood-reeking church stood a cross, and on it was bound a man.

His lips were cracked dry, his clothes filthy and tattered. Two chunks of flesh had been gouged from his arms, a piece of his left cheek was dug away, revealing crimson gums and bloodstained teeth, and a piece of flesh was missing from one of his legs as well.

His hair was a tangled mess, covering half his face, but faintly, one could still recognize the features of Landon.

Clip-clop, clip-clop—a knight rode up with two squires. Hearing the sound, a priest inside the church hurriedly opened the door. His feet in hemp shoes stepped without hesitation onto the blood-soaked mud. But the mire made walking difficult, so simply, he took off his shoes and ran barefoot across the sticky, bloodied earth, making squelching sounds.

The knight entered, his warhorse avoiding the bloodstains.

Looking at the sycophantic priest, the knight said, “By order of the lord, take him out for some air.”

The priest bent low and obsequiously replied, “Yes, esteemed knight, I will release him at once.”

Turning his head, he shouted at the hulking simpleton behind him, “Anlong, go untie that man!”

The oafish Anlong immediately jogged to loosen the ropes binding Landon.

The knight asked, “He has been fed these past few days, yes?”

The priest leaned closer, until the knight’s gaze grew cold, then stopped and whispered, “Of course. I deliberately used slaves. At night, I had them pretend to be moved by him and bring him some water and food. After repeating this several times, when he had eaten enough, I let the slaves be discovered, and in front of him, I killed them. Rest assured, I used that favorite method—heart-gouging and skull-crushing—ensuring their screams were loud.”

“You don’t know—each time he watched me work, though he clearly had little strength left, he still cursed me. The fact that he could still curse me, and so forcefully, proved he would not die so easily.”

The priest grinned servilely. “I guarantee that when you return him from the outing, he will still be alive.”

The knight nodded. “You have done well. Before I return with him, you may go relax in town. This is your payment.”

He tossed down a gold coin. Before it even touched the ground, the priest snatched it up, admiring the fine engravings. The cross-shaped pattern gleamed under the Morning Star, dazzling to behold.

The knight added, “However, if when I return I do not see you, or if anything untoward happens, you will face the lord’s punishment.”

The priest hurriedly bowed deeper. “Yes, yes, you can rest assured, I know what to do.”

The knight nodded, then urged his horse to approach Landon, who had been lowered and had one leg re-bound. Anlong smiled foolishly as he handed the rope to the knight.

Taking the rope, the knight tied it to his saddle and spurred his horse to a slow trot. Landon’s body dragged behind like a rag, raising dust.

This was the rule Viscount Youn had set: every so often, Landon must be taken out to “get some air,” dragged through the villages on the eastern front. Each round of such an outing lasted an entire day.

The priest watched the knight disappear, his hunched body slowly straightening, the fawning expression fading from his face as he rubbed the coin’s engravings.

“Anlong, we have to run,” the priest said.

“Run?” Anlong’s dull face was full of confusion.

“Idiot, I mean we must flee for our lives. Look at this coin—the lord’s knight is already using York’s coinage. Yet our lord still dreams of resisting them with a Holy Relic. But that Relic—don’t you see? In his state of practically sleeping with it, he must already have been eroded by it.”

“Then where should we run?” Anlong asked blankly.

“Anywhere, as long as we leave here.” The priest shook his head, then flicked the coin. “One York gold coin is enough for me to pass eastward.”

“One coin is enough?” Anlong tilted his head.

“Of course, idiot. This is a York coin. It means that whoever uses it accepts the rules of York Territory.”

“Oh…” Anlong’s eyes lit with realization. Then he suddenly swung a fist at the priest’s head. With a brutal strike, the priest’s skull exploded.

“There is only one coin, but we are two. I don’t want to die, so only you can.” Anlong grinned foolishly, picked up the fallen coin, and walked away from the corpse.

…

Once the knight had dragged Landon beyond the church’s sight, he reined in his horse and untied him.

“Master, this…” one squire hesitated.

Without pausing his hands, the knight replied, “The lord has gone mad. A few days ago, he even ordered flesh carved from that priest to be eaten raw. Those magicians said it would help him better communicate with the Relic.”

“But the scholars who fled to York Territory told us this only makes the lord draw closer to a mysterious existence, to better channel the will of a Mystery. The magicians only want to use him as an experiment.”

“I do not mind dying with the lord, but my child is still young.”

Speaking thus, the knight lifted Landon onto his horse.

The two squires exchanged glances. “Shall we deal with the priest then?”

“No need. He is already a dead man. Anlong is no good sort,” the knight replied.

He tossed them a cloth. “Catch up with Anlong. Kill him. Wrap his corpse in this cloth. Then continue the outing. When it ends, take that coin to find Fernando and hide there for now. I have a feeling the end is near.”

Fernando was a man planted outside by the knight’s family, usually disguised as a bandit.

“And you, sir?” one squire asked.

“I, of course, will remain in town with my family. Do not worry for me. My life comes from my family; my Honor comes from my lord. I cannot leave.”

At his urging, the squires wheeled their horses back, caught Anlong who was plundering the church for escape, and speared his heart with a lance.

They skillfully cut many wounds into his body, letting blood flow, leaving a trail along the ground as they dragged him.

…

York Territory, Church of the Sanctuary, first floor of the Clock Tower.

Agamemnon wrote line after line on letter paper. Only after more than forty letters did he stop. He placed them in the dove cylinder, then released the white doves.

Most flew toward churches in the Diocese of York, but two went farther: one toward the Diocese of Rod, another toward the Diocese of Adrian.

York Territory, Garcia Village, inside the small church.

Igor, listening to the confessions of believers, wore a gentle smile. Even faint scars on his face could not diminish his aura of warmth.

His voice was strange, raspy, as if each word cost his entire strength.

“…In this matter, as the one who erred, you should be the first to apologize to your friend. It is no great issue. I believe your friend merely needs a step down. He also cherishes you.”

The penitent bowed respectfully and went off to seek reconciliation, while Igor’s gaze fell upon the white dove on the cross.

He beckoned, and the dove flew to his finger.

He removed the letter tied to its leg and read it. Soon his face changed, filled with fury.

“Landon! My brother!” he murmured, fingers trembling as he lowered the letter. The dove, sensing his rage, flapped up to perch on the cross, watching nervously.

The letter briefly described Landon’s plight in Viscount Youn’s domain: dragged by knights, flesh gouged by the lord, bound on a cross and stoned.

It reminded Igor of what he himself had once endured at the hands of a priest in the Theocracy.

In the church, he took out an Oak Shield and strapped it on his back, picked up an Oak Spear, and pushed open the church door.

A monk preparing the Sacrament outside was startled by Igor’s appearance.

“Priest Igor, what happened?! Why are you carrying a shield and spear?!”

Igor turned, opened his mouth wide, and in a hoarse voice roared, “Lord Youn has persecuted my brother, Priest Landon! He has committed a great sin! He and his accomplices are sinners! Even though Priest Landon strove to purify their sins, they tortured him instead—such mercy they have rejected! They are beyond salvation!”

“Therefore, the Lord has cast down Absolute Punishment upon them!”

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