Chapter 285 : Burned Out
Chapter 285: Burned Out
The knights shouting "Bravery and Fearlessness!" made Julian's expression change slightly. At this moment, the Fishmen had already gone mad—this was nothing less than a suicide charge.
Yet he was merely the commander of York Territory, and had no authority over the warriors of Adrian—especially since he knew the commander of Adrian’s legion was Bishop Marl.
Therefore, he could only ignore it and continue gathering soldiers for defense.
However, though he could ignore it, Gregor could not.
The knights’ cries of bravery and fearlessness were so loud that he could faintly hear them from his side.
He recalled that night back in York Territory, when Richard had pestered him endlessly, boasting about his Oath Knights.
And now, even with endless Fishmen ahead of them, these knights still dared to shout "Bravery and Fearlessness!" and charge forward.
He seemed to understand now what an Oath meant, what it meant to be an Oath Knight.
What a romantic notion. What an honor!
"Even if those are your Oath Knights, my Doyle Knights are no less than yours!" he roared, eyes reddened, and brandished his longsword to charge.
His knights’ expressions changed drastically, but without hesitation, they spurred their horses and followed.
Not far away, Jeremiah saw Gregor’s actions. Having only recently become a bishop, and already suffering a headache after completing the Blessing, Jeremiah nearly fainted.
He knew Marl’s plan. Marl had even told him directly—if he burned out completely this time, then Jeremiah should hold Adrian Territory in his stead. Now that he had gained a foothold in Doyle Territory and was a bishop himself, Jeremiah had the ability.
So when he saw Gregor, crazily unafraid of death, charging in, Jeremiah felt his head was about to explode.
Richard's fate remained unknown, Marl might burn out, and now if Gregor died too, what would become of these two Earldoms?
In that moment, Jeremiah made a decision—if Gregor survived this battle, then when they returned, he would make sure to get him a wife.
But that was for later.
Eyes bloodshot, Jeremiah looked toward the lords and their knights and shouted, "Your lord has already launched a fearless charge! Are you unwilling to follow in your lord’s footsteps?!"
At once, the lords looked at one another.
They didn’t want to charge. As nobles, not knights, their loyalty lay more with interests than with their lord.
Clearly, charging into a maddened horde of Fishmen was not in their interests.
But Jeremiah didn’t care about their interests—Gregor could not be allowed to die. He pointed at the lords whose eyes darted around and bellowed, "Have the Original Sins upon you clouded your loyalty? Is it Greed? Or Treachery? Or perhaps, you are already deep in Sin? Know this—Sinners will be punished, and Sin will drag your loved ones down into damnation with you!"
He directly threatened their families.
It was highly effective.
They glanced at the York soldiers at the front line, and at the crosses and flags among them. Reluctantly, they led their knights and followed Gregor into the charge.
Jeremiah burned with anger.
Just then, a giant halo with wings appeared in the sky.
The wings flapped, sweeping over the Fishmen. The Holy Light it emitted caused the Fishman Hunters, whose life force was nearly spent, to explode on the spot. The Fishman Warlords howled and writhed on the ground. Only the Deep Divers could resist the Holy Light—but even they were affected, and were slain by the personal guards they had been fighting.
It was over.
Jeremiah let out a sigh of relief.
In his vision, Julian had already raised the command banner, leading the knights of York Territory into the charge.
Exhaustion washed over him. Then suddenly, he chuckled.
Although Gregor’s actions had shocked him, Marl had proven reliable. This time, things had turned out well.
However, remembering the hesitant lords and the strange glimmer in their knights’ eyes, Jeremiah muttered, "Sometimes, the foolish things done by fools can yield some good results."
...
The battle here drew to a close, while in the Diocese of Rod, at the site of the former marquis’ castle—
"The first battle over there is finished, just as we predicted," said Agamemnon, exhaling a sigh of relief.
He stood within a magic array, faint blue light glowing in his eyes.
The battlefield was too far away—even with pigeons acting as his eyes, he needed a magic array to extend his range of vision.
"Over half the Earth Vein’s power from the entire marquisate was drawn out, and we still might not win…" muttered the mage Varo, cloaked in a black robe that reeked of strange odors.
In front of the two were three massive Giant Catapults, covered in cracks. Around them, more than twenty black-robed apprentices bustled about, recording data.
Agamemnon ignored the sarcasm in Varo’s tone and said, "The scholars said that by cutting off this region’s magic from the Earth Vein, the clouds will disperse after the year’s end and the land will be fertile again. Besides, these three surplus Super Colossal Catapults are due to be scrapped anyway—might as well let them serve one last purpose."
"But we won’t have help from these big guys next time," Varo replied.
"That’s fine. One victory is enough. After this, our legion will not lose again," Agamemnon said.
"It better not," Varo replied. "That Bishop Marl promised to build my magic academy right in that Fishman-held territory."
"Don’t worry. It’ll be done by the end of next year. But since it’s church-sponsored, I must ask you to carefully consider what you teach, Mage Varo."
"Naturally. I’m not ready to die yet."
"These catapults are now useless. They’re made with materials from Dark Creatures and magic gemstones. Do you want any of it?"
"Just scraps. Worthless now."
Agamemnon nodded and signaled the apprentices to burn the catapults, commenting, "The things these monasteries develop are too expensive. Just these three launches used up a quarter of the underground city’s stockpile, and the gemstones were years in the making."
"Converted to coin, that’s at least three hundred thousand York gold."
"Things touching the level of magic can’t be bought with gold," Varo replied.
"Indeed, like that divine body," Agamemnon said.
Varo’s body stiffened. Beneath his hood, a pair of bright eyes stared at Agamemnon.
"The Theocracy’s Patriarch is a demi-god—a body once prepared by one of the Original Sins for himself."
Varo remained silent.
Agamemnon continued, "The Fishmen were warped in their very life structure by the power of a certain great being. To survive, they needed a deity. And so, a nascent divine will of a god belonging to the Fishmen descended."
"Unfortunately, that will was unlucky. Caught by the Original Sins, tampered with, then killed after incarnation. It caused the divine will to degrade to demi-god level—a very weak one."
After a long silence, Varo finally asked, "Name your price."
Agamemnon held up three fingers. "Three million York gold for the divine body. Three hundred thousand for the divine will."
Varo fell silent, then said, "I have only twenty-three York gold."
"You see? Magic can be bought with gold—but only if you have enough."
Varo didn’t answer. He glanced at the young girl sitting nearby.
Finally, he asked, "What do you want?"
"A magic academy cannot have only one teacher."
"I can find five mages who can undergo Baptism."
"The demi-god body will become the academy’s trophy."
"And the divine will?"
Agamemnon smiled but said nothing.
Varo left.
The girl sitting on a rock nearby, Olivia, finally asked, "Do we really need to keep those mages?"
Agamemnon looked at Olivia. "You should be able to see the power of that thing. We can’t give it up now."
"Oscar and the others can research it too."
Agamemnon shook his head. "They are the spark. They must not be extinguished."
Olivia understood. "You plan to kill them when the time is right?"
"Maybe after me. Who knows when."
"How troublesome."
Seeing Olivia like this, Agamemnon chuckled. "Sometimes, things must be done the troublesome way."
Olivia suddenly asked, "Like how you insist I must wait until I’m an adult to take that position? You’d rather let things descend into chaos than let me step forward now?"
Agamemnon tensed, then relaxed.
He had suspected, but hearing Olivia say it so plainly still startled him.
"How did you know?"
"I’m not an idiot like Cicero. Even if it’s just a hunch, I know something’s off."
She pointed at her eyes. "And in this world, there are very few people these eyes can’t see through."
Agamemnon glanced at Olivia’s ruby-like eyes. "Since you’ve guessed, why mock Cicero?"
"He can’t beat me. And under that old man’s will, even if someone tells him outright, he’ll forget it."
Agamemnon sighed. "You should call him Grandfather."
"Mother told me they’re all bastards—the old one, the little one, and the dumb one. None of them are any good."
Agamemnon decided it was better not to ask further. It might become dangerous. He changed the subject.
"Even if you took that seat and wore that ring now, you wouldn’t be able to do much."
"Greenwood has too small a population, though it’s fertile land. And after the Pope’s gift, birth rates have slowed. Our priority is repopulation and restoring strength."
"Do you want to sit there worrying about wheat and childbirth every day?"
Olivia shivered and quickly shook her head. "Forget it. I’m still a child. This kind of thing doesn’t suit me. Call me when it’s time to kill someone."
Though Agamemnon found something wrong in her words, he chose to ignore it.
"Childhood is a gift from the Lord to every child. You should cherish it."
"What about you?" Olivia asked suddenly.
Agamemnon turned his back and gave no reply.