Chapter 321: Chaos Begins

Just by hearing Puniel say this, Bevan and Jeffrey both more or less understood. The Warrior Guild was essentially a separation of functions from the Mercenary Tavern.

They knew that according to the Church’s definition of sin, any mercenary who had survived for over half a year by now was already considered guilty.

Puniel had established the Mercenary Tavern only to impose some restraint on the excessive number of fighters in the York Territory at the time.

But now, with Greenwood nearly unified, the Mercenary Tavern had spread across the kingdom and was even expanding into the Northern Lands. A tavern of such vast scale, gathering a horde of restless mercenaries, had long since become impossible to fully control.

In fact, back during the Eastern Crusade against the Fishmen, those mercenaries had already failed to fully obey Puniel’s orders. Instead, they had chosen to accept other nobles’ offers of war employment. From that point onward, Puniel had gradually lost control over the Mercenary Tavern.

Now, this so-called Warrior Guild of Puniel’s was nothing more than a means of discarding the old and providing mercenaries with a way to earn gold coins, keeping them obedient and preventing trouble. It served the purpose of conducting rank assessments, so that the ruling elite could maintain control over the number of free warriors within the kingdom.

Furthermore, when necessary, mercenaries could be screened—whether they were strong, whether they were worth recruiting, whether they possessed steadfast Faith, and so on.

Even beyond the Mercenary Tavern system, the Senate could then apply pressure on other nobles, demanding they too adopt the Warrior Guild’s evaluations.

In other words, once stripped of its redundant functions, Puniel’s Warrior Guild instead gained the potential to gather even greater authority.

Jeffrey asked, “Are you planning to establish the Warrior Guild in the Northern Lands as well?”

Puniel nodded, answering, “Of course. The Warrior Guild will expand under the name of the Mercenary Tavern.”

Bevan sneered and said, “That group of paupers in the Northern Lands—do you really think they’ll be willing to spend gold coins on the Warrior Guild’s assessments?”

Puniel hesitated. Bevan’s words reminded him: while a gold coin meant little in Greenwood, for the impoverished Northerners, it was indeed a heavy price.

Jeffrey said, “Let’s wait until next year to consider extending the Warrior Guild to the Northern Lands. Those northern nobles won’t care about political balances. Right now, they’re already convinced the Mercenary Tavern is useful. And since the Comrades Group has already set a precedent—not establishing branches under the name of the Mercenary Tavern but purely under the name of the Comrades Group, independent of our control—those nobles are bound to imitate them.”

Bevan asked, “Is that the will of the King of the North?”

Jeffrey gave a cold laugh. “Who else could it be? Given the action power of those northern barbarians, within at most three months, the Mercenary Tavern will vanish from the Northern Lands.”

Puniel sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll just have Isaac maintain the Frozen Furnace Arena. As for the rest, I can’t do anything.”

Jeffrey said, “Then you’d better warn Isaac to be cautious.”

Puniel froze. “What do you mean?”

Jeffrey explained, “The King of the North has never been respected by the great nobles of the North. They believe he’s too weak. Those nobles have long been planning to replace him. They’re just waiting for the Fiends to invade—then they’ll kill the Lord of Annihilation, achieve glory, and crown themselves as Supreme King.

“Of course, we are not those northern barbarians. From the information he himself revealed, we know this King of the North is nothing like the weak figure the Northerners imagine. On the contrary, he’s extremely powerful. But since he doesn’t flaunt that strength, in the eyes of the northern barbarians, he appears weak.”

“Already, some northern nobles dissatisfied with the King of the North’s supposed weakness have defected to powerful Greenwood. And I suspect that those high nobles who were ready to abandon their great ambitions because of the Frost Giants wouldn’t mind plunging the North back into chaos.”

“After all, a noble is still far beneath a Grand Duke.”

Puniel looked stunned. “You’re trying to incite a northern civil war?”

Jeffrey shot him a glance. “What else? Do you think I asked Piero to bring that northern barbarian into York City to pollute its sweet air for nothing? When he came to the Senate, I could smell his stench even five meters away.”

Even Bevan, who constantly mocked the Northerners as beggars, was startled by Jeffrey’s blunt words.

Puniel said in disbelief, “But the Fiend armies of the Lord of Annihilation are right there in the East. Surely they won’t fail to notice our hostility toward them?”

Jeffrey laughed coldly. “So what? Do you choose to strike first, tear into your enemies, expand your territory, and ultimately become Grand Duke? Or do you sit and wait for others to strike first?

“The Comrades Group’s involvement in the war has already stirred unrest, and the excitement of the gladiatorial contests has shattered the fragile balance of the North. At this point, just one falling stone will trigger a great northern split.”

“As for the Fiend armies of the Lord of Annihilation? Unless they march directly into northern lands, the nobles won’t care about them.”

“In the end, nobles are selfish. I am, we all are, and so are they.”

Puniel fell silent. Finally, he pointed upward and asked, “…Will They agree?”

This was, after all, provoking war—an entire northern war. The death toll would be unimaginable.

After Greenwood’s unification, the combined population of the three principalities had shrunk from over three million to just over six hundred thousand. In earlier times, it would have taken at most ten years, counting newborns, to recover to three million.

But after Greenwood accepted the Lord’s Gift, it would take at least two generations—thirty-two years—to reach that number again, including newborns.

And that was with Greenwood’s mild climate and fertile lands.

If the North’s population were to shrink to one-fifth in the same way, how many years would it take them to recover after receiving the Lord’s Gift?

None of them doubted that the Lord would indeed bestow that Gift upon the North.

Just look at the Holy Scriptures of the Church. In essence, it was an empire cloaked in Church garb—an empire that sought to rule the entire world and make all obey its order.

As for why senators now claimed Greenwood loved peace? The main reason was simply that Greenwood had not yet recovered.

Just look at Marquis Gregor, standing beside the Principality of Valorian, and Bishop Jeremiah. They had already extended their intelligence networks into the Woodlands and held frequent sparring matches with the neighboring Marquis, hosting banquets daily.

Thus, in the long run, by the calculations of the Holy Scriptures, Greenwood should avoid letting the North suffer such harsh and destructive wars.

But Jeffrey said coldly, “Remember how the Principality of Corlay was destroyed by the Fishmen? It was because the old Grand Duke feared the power of his young heir. The old fool clutched his authority to the grave, plunging the principality into civil war and giving the Fishmen an opening.”

“Oh, and if the Principality of Patlin had been in Corlay’s place, it might have perished even faster. Back then, Patlin’s Grand Duke was already dead, and the war of succession had raged for years.”

“So tell me—without internal unity, how could they resist the Lord of Annihilation? I’m helping them eliminate hidden dangers in advance. They should be thanking me.”

“Besides, if we don’t let them fight, how will the common folk ever learn of Greenwood’s benevolence? Without knowing Greenwood’s kindness, why would they yearn for Greenwood’s life? Why would they seek Greenwood’s protection? And if they seek protection, naturally they must serve Greenwood’s great men.”

“That ‘New Year Gifts from the Lord’ I distributed to them recently—do you think those were given for free? They can’t be allowed to forget the Lord’s grace only to remember pain later.”

Even Puniel could hear it clearly: the earlier words were excuses, while the latter revealed Jeffrey’s true intentions.

Puniel asked, “And what about that former Church Knight?”

Jeffrey cursed, “Idiot. That old northerner already foresaw that a northern split was inevitable. So he sent the man eastward long ago, to a place untouched by war.”

“Yet you sit in this Senate, and you cannot even see it?”

Puniel’s face flushed red. He gave a cold snort and stopped speaking.

Jeffrey finally said, “That old fool probably wants that former Church Knight to first end the chaos in the Northern Lands with a Western Crusade, and then march East to deal with the Lord of Annihilation. After that, the former Church Knight will become the true leader of the North.”

“That old fool is betting that the Church will interfere in the Fiends’ affairs. What a terrifying man. Is he really a northern barbarian born of the North?”

No one replied to his words. Neither Puniel nor Bevan wished to speak to Jeffrey, who now appeared almost deranged. In this state, Jeffrey’s mouth was unbearably foul.

……

The Bard Apprentices trained by the monastery had to meet at least the standards of a Tier Two Lower Warrior’s physique and a Tier Two Apprentice’s level of magic.

Of course, for the sake of appearances, these bards all spent at least one day studying at Adrian Academy of Magic.

After all, in peacetime, the monastery’s catalog of magical disciplines contained no apprentices.

As for why these bards needed magical ability—naturally, it was to establish a connection with the magical tome developed by the monastery.

It was a massive book-like magical item, created by combining the power of magic and ritual.

Besides the main tome, there were derivative copies. These copies could only receive content from the original tome in one direction.

Thus, after Oscar had compiled those words, he transmitted them directly through the magical tome to the bards in the North.

The poem, which Oscar deliberately named The Center of the World, spread westward at incredible speed, toward the heart of the Northern Lands.

By now, the northern barbarians had gradually grown accustomed to this form of bardic performance. However, their favorite remained the tale of the First Gladiator.

Stories such as how he stood four meters tall, fought eighteen women at once in bed, or how, during a siege, he only had to raise his “weapon” before the gates and unleash a flood, the impact piercing through a city’s gate.

The more exaggerated, the more brutal and lewd the tale, the more they liked it.

But after the bards sang The Center of the World, they were nearly torn apart on the spot by the furious northern barbarians.

They cared nothing for civilization or refinement, but they understood the verses calling them beasts, claiming they knew nothing of Honor, declaring that the greatest warriors were in Greenwood, and even saying northern nobles had surrendered to Greenwood’s royal house.

They were furious. They were proud Northern Warriors. They were powerful Northern Warriors, the ones who once forced Greenwood cowards to offer food and beg for peace. They were naturally the strong ones.

Look now—even Greenwood cowards who sought a foothold in the North had to bribe the northern nobles.

And yet, some northern nobles had surrendered to Greenwood’s royal house?

Bards were usually humorous and witty. They even composed songs praising mercenaries who defeated powerful enemies, so their relationship with the Northerners was fairly friendly.

The barbarians also knew that bards merely retold other people’s stories.

Thus, in their rage, they pinned all the blame for The Center of the World on Giles.

Look—was it not this man who had surrendered to Greenwood, and even composed such arrogant words that insulted their honor as Northern Warriors?

But even before him, their anger—guided by certain hands—had already turned toward the King of the North.

It was all because of the weakness of that King of the North, they said, that northern nobles had surrendered to Greenwood’s royal family.

They roared for the King of the North to step down. Such a weak king was unfit to rule the North.

Through taverns of mercenaries and the mouths of bards, their voices spread, amplified without end.

Meanwhile, the great nobles—the marquises and earls—under the “advice” of clever men who had emerged over the past half-year, secretly mixed a bit of “seasoning” into the outcry.

For example: “Such-and-such Marquis holds the largest territory and should lead the North to greatness once again.”

Or: “Such-and-such Marquis is the strongest and most worthy.”

Or: “Such-and-such Marquis commands the loyalty of the First Warrior, and he alone is the choice of the North.”

Or even: “Even if such-and-such Earl were to become Supreme King of the North, it would be better than the current King of the North.”

But in the midst of this spreading “seasoning,” a certain Viscount suddenly stood forth. With a great wave of his hand, he rallied his troops, openly declaring his opposition to the weak rule of the King of the North.

This left the high nobles somewhat dumbfounded.

In terms of rank, a viscount was counted as a lower noble, but since only a king or grand duke could confer the title, they could also be regarded as nobles-in-waiting of the higher tier.

And it was only upon reaching the rank of viscount that one had a greater chance of possessing a Holy Relic.

This viscount did indeed possess such a relic.

During last year’s mercenary war, he had achieved enormous gains. He annexed two baronies, seized part of another viscount’s lands, and thus earned considerable prestige among mercenaries.

After all, he was the only lord daring enough to employ mercenaries on such a scale—and even pay them afterward.

Other lords either turned hostile once the war ended or dared to hire only a handful of mercenaries. He alone dared to hire four hundred mercenaries for battle.

His own warriors numbered just over six hundred.

This time was no different. After absorbing two baronies and a portion of a viscount’s land, his personal army had grown to a thousand warriors. On top of that, the mercenaries he hired numbered five hundred.

These five hundred were all the mercenaries from his lands and the surrounding territories.

As he slowly advanced toward the King of the North’s direct domain, more and more mercenaries from nearby lands joined under his family’s banner.

By the time he approached the vicinity of the King of the North’s lands, his mixed army had reached two thousand men—among them, nearly thirty were Tier Four Warrior level.

In the North, even a marquis would struggle to muster such strength.

At that moment, the viscount brimmed with pride.

He was a learned man. He had studied every Greenwood book he could obtain, and so he understood the importance of fame and momentum. Thus, when the people’s voices condemning the King of the North reached their peak, he decisively stepped forth, raising the banner of rebellion.

And indeed, he was proven correct. His forces already rivaled the elite troops a marquis could gather at full strength.

Now, from his position, it was only three days of marching to reach Frozen Furnace City, where the King of the North resided.

He was certain that within those three days, as he continued his incursion into the King’s lands, even more northern warriors would join him.

Because he represented the future of the North.

He lashed his whip forward. Behind him, his squire furiously waved his banner.

And then—he saw five men.

They stood spread out, clearly not companions.

He laughed, thinking they had come to join his ranks.

So he straightened his posture on horseback, determined to display the majesty of the future King of the North.

Then he saw the five men move. They raised their weapons.

The Viscount’s expression changed. Through the resonance of his Holy Relic, he sensed the fluctuations of its power.

As he drew closer to them, his Tier Four Warrior physique allowed him to clearly see their faces. They were none other than the five high nobles of the North.

Three marquises and three earls. They had not coordinated beforehand, nor had any “clever men” whispered advice to them. They had simply come, each carrying their Holy Relics, waiting in the King of the North’s direct domain for this Viscount.

They brought no Northern Warriors with them, for there was no need.

When the five Holy Relics were unleashed together, even though the Viscount released his own relic to resist, in the end, both he and the two thousand northern warriors behind him were completely wiped away.

Afterward, the high nobles returned to their own domains and personally executed the so-called clever men who had urged them to “season” the rebellion. They then raised their own banners high, declaring openly that the King of the North was weak and incompetent, no longer fit to lead. They proclaimed themselves independent nobles, and demanded that all other nobles of the North either submit—or die.

At the same time, they demolished the Mercenary Taverns within their territories and in those of their vassals. Then they seized the kneeling mercenaries, forcing them to imitate the structure of the Comrades Group, creating new “Comrades Groups” under the names of these nobles.

In an instant, the Mercenary Taverns of the North disappeared without a trace, while independent mercenary companies such as the Furious Bear Company and the Snow Wolf Company were formed. Yet to call them mercenary companies was misleading—they were nothing more than auxiliary forces of the lords.

They were the kind that received no wages and were forced to serve for free.

The surviving mercenaries, of course, refused. Back when the Mercenary Taverns existed, at least they were paid in gold. Not only that—the taverns provided abundant and cheap food, weapons for purchase, and even women.

But once absorbed into the lords’ groups, they received nothing, and still had to risk their lives for the lords.

Having once tasted freedom, the mercenaries could not endure such oppression. They immediately prepared to flee.

Of course they fled. Northern blood might make them hot-blooded, but no mercenary was foolish enough to resist high nobles—those ruthless, murderous nobles.

But the lords would not simply let them escape. The lords intended to purge their territories, consolidate power, and expand their domains. How could they allow deserters who might later aid their enemies?

Thus the hunts began.

Beyond the mercenaries, the lords ordered all gentry to quickly gather food.

Though the nobles had once hoarded large amounts of cheap Greenwood grain, that was their private property. Even if it was to be turned into military rations, they still had to squeeze what they could out of their villagers first.

The gentry, upon receiving orders, immediately began seizing grain from the peasants in their villages.

Though their households already held reserves, it was wartime. “You lowly peasants must surrender your food to the lords who grant you protection!”

The commoners—who had only just received the Lord’s Gift—wailed bitterly. Especially those who had saved their rations but now saw them confiscated. Their grief was unbearable.

They wept and realized: compared to Greenwood’s Lord, how could these gentry and nobles ever measure up?

Thus, with their northern blood aflame, these peasants stormed the village gates and fled along the trade roads toward Greenwood.

But the lords had already prepared for this. They stationed warriors at the checkpoints, cutting down any peasants who tried to escape, and severed all routes to Greenwood’s merchant caravans.

The peasants they cared little for—these folk had no combat strength. Dead or alive, it mattered not. But again, better to slaughter them than allow them to become the wealth of rival nobles.

As for Greenwood’s caravans, the lords were blunt. “If the North is at war, then any richly laden Greenwood caravan entering our lands must be confiscated.”

These high nobles were not like barons who could be intimidated by caravan mercenaries.

And so, the road leading from the Northwind Mountains into the Northern Lands was completely blocked.

When Bevan learned of this, he cursed furiously, “Damn these northern beggar-barbarians, reckless fools!”

Puniel gloated at the chaos.

Jeffrey, meanwhile, asked Oscar to send word to the bards still in the North, instructing them to spread among the peasants the message that in the eastern North, there existed Comrades Groups devoted to the Lord with devout Faith, and that there they would find protection.

But just as Oscar was about to pass this message through the magical tome to the northern bards, Priest Agamemnon and Bishop Claudy came to him.

“The Lord has delivered a prophecy. Please, transmit this prophecy to the Northern Lands,” Claudy said.

Oscar’s expression turned strange. He knew well enough what the Lord of the Church of the Sanctuary truly was. But he also knew that its bishops really did receive revelations—and those revelations were essentially prophecies.

So he replied, “No problem.”

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