Ch. 37
Chapter 37: White Bone's Salvation
Anneliya was startled by this sudden intrusion and instinctively stepped back, clutching the ledger in her hands even tighter.
Caesar's brow merely furrowed slightly, those deep purple eyes showing not the slightest ripple, as if the ominous banner in the scout's mouth was nothing more than a fallen leaf drifting past the window.
“Church of White Bone?”
He repeated the name in a low voice, his fingertips tapping lightly on the cold windowsill, producing a rhythmic sound.
“Yes, my lord.”
The guard gasped for breath, trying to make his description clearer.
“There aren't many of them, roughly thirty people.”
“All wearing plain black monk's robes, hoods pulled low, faces cannot be seen.”
“The leader is a woman. She says her name is Elizabeth…… she says…… she has come to visit you.”
Caesar's gaze passed over the scout's tense face and cast toward the land outside the window that was gradually calming after the carnival.
“Interesting.”
The corner of Caesar's mouth curved into an arc no one could understand—not a smile, but rather the cold interest of a hunter discovering prey stepping into his territory.
“Where are they?”
“Just one li outside the city. They haven't approached.”
“Lord Roland has already brought men to blockade the city gate and is confronting them.”
“Understood.”
Caesar waved his hand.
“Go. Guard your post well.”
The guard, as if granted amnesty, bowed and retreated.
The room fell into silence for a moment.
Anneliya looked at Caesar's profile. That young, handsome face appeared especially cold and hard in the flickering lamplight, causing her to feel an inexplicable palpitation.
“My lord, the church……”
She hesitantly spoke, her noble instincts filling her with vigilance toward this organization that by the sound of it belonged to forbidden heresy.
“Any sect connected with the undead or skeletons belongs to heretical organizations that must be purified within the empire's borders.”
“The Luminous Church's Inquisition punishes them even more cruelly than magical beasts.”
“I know.”
Caesar turned around, looking at her calmly.
“That's precisely why I'm more curious what gave them the courage to appear so brazenly beneath my city.”
He took the black cloak hanging on the wall and casually draped it over his shoulders.
“Let's go, Anna. Let's meet these uninvited guests of ours.”
“I…… I'm going too?”
Anneliya froze.
“You are my clerk.”
Caesar's tone brooked no argument.
“You need to record everything that happens in the territory, don't you?”
“Including…… how we deal with heretics.”
Anneliya's lips moved, but in the end she silently followed behind him.
She understood—this was both an order and a field lesson.
Caesar was using the most direct method to tell her the survival rules of this world.
……
At the north gate of the City of Miracles, the atmosphere at this moment was as heavy as solidified lead.
The torchlight flickered fiercely in the night wind, projecting the silhouettes of Roland and the hundred Black Dragon Guard soldiers behind him onto the rough city wall, forming a silent yet oppressive shadow.
A hundred meters outside the city gate, over thirty black figures stood quietly on the wasteland, like ink stains seeping up from deep within the earth, merging with the surrounding darkness.
They made no sound, lit no torches, only stood in silence. That deathly stillness itself was a form of silent intimidation.
A massive black banner was raised high among them. The banner unfurled in the night wind, displaying a complete human skeleton embroidered with pure white thread that appeared especially striking in the darkness, as if issuing a silent mockery to this city.
When Caesar's figure appeared on the city wall, both sides of the standoff below stirred slightly.
“My lord!”
Roland turned his head, reporting in a deep voice.
“They show no hostility, but they won't leave either. They insist on seeing you.”
Caesar did not respond. His gaze passed over Roland's shoulder and fell directly on the leader of those black-robed figures.
That was a woman.
Unlike the others, she did not use a hood to conceal her face.
In the moonlight, her face presented an almost sickly pallor, features so delicate they resembled an ivory sculpture, a head of silver-white hair like a waterfall condensed from moonlight, casually draped over her shoulders.
Her eyes were a deep black, so calm they contained not a trace of impurity, like two pools capable of swallowing all light.
She was beautiful, yet with a cold beauty that did not belong to the living.
She seemed to sense Caesar's gaze and slowly raised her head. Across a hundred meters of distance, her eyes met Caesar's in midair.
“Open the city gate.”
Caesar suddenly ordered.
“My lord!”
Roland's face changed.
“Their origins are unknown—too dangerous!”
“We'll talk here.”
Caesar's tone was calm and unruffled.
“Let them come closer.”
“Roland, have the archers take aim. If they make any suspicious move, kill them on the spot.”
“Yes!”
Roland immediately issued the command.
On the city wall, dozens of archers instantly drew their bows and nocked arrows, arrowheads glinting with cold light in the firelight, locked onto that group of black-robed figures from afar.
The heavy city gate opened a crack wide enough for only one person to pass through amid the creaking of the winch.
Among the black-robed figures, the saint called Elizabeth walked alone with steady steps, slowly approaching the city gate.
She walked very slowly, posture graceful, as if she were not approaching a heavily fortified military stronghold but taking a moonlit stroll.
She stopped thirty paces from the city wall, raised her head, and looked up at Caesar standing on the wall.
“Lord of the City of Miracles, Lord Caesar Valerius.”
Her voice, like her appearance, was cool and measured, yet carried a peculiar penetrating quality that clearly reached everyone's ears.
“I am Elizabeth, saint of the Church of White Bone.”
“By my master's command, I have come to visit this city born in despair, and to bring to you and your subjects the deity's gospel.”
“Gospel?”
Caesar let out a soft laugh, his voice carrying undisguised mockery.
“My people have just enjoyed a sumptuous meat feast. They are now filled with strength and hope, and seem to need no additional gospel.”
“As for your church, Saint Elizabeth, holding a skull banner and speaking of gospel beneath my city—don't you find that rather absurd?”
His gaze swept over that unsettling banner, his voice suddenly turning cold.
“In Anjou, in the Eastern Reaches, throughout the entire Franc Empire, we worship Father God who created all things, the righteous deities symbolizing light, glory, and harvest.”
“In their scriptures, white bones represent only death and uncleanness.”
“Tell me—why should I permit a heretic to spread your twisted theories about death in this city that symbolizes new life?”
As soon as Caesar's words fell, the soldiers on the city wall—their faces originally tense and confused—were quickly replaced by hostility mixed with disgust and vigilance.
Though most of them no longer believed in gods, they had been steeped since childhood in the Luminous Church's doctrines praising life and condemning the dead.
Caesar's words precisely touched the most fundamental sense of right and wrong deep in their hearts.
Facing Caesar's aggressive questioning and the surrounding hostile gazes, Elizabeth's expression did not change in the slightest.
She only quietly looked at Caesar, and in those unfathomable black eyes, a trace of pity even showed.
“Lord Caesar, have you and your subjects truly gained new life?”
Her voice remained measured, yet like a sharp ice pick, it stabbed toward the softest innards of this city.
“I see your city rising from the ground, your subjects pouring out sweat.”
“But I also see the scars on their bodies, the numbness in their eyes, and that most primitive survival instinct that can be easily ignited by a bowl of meat soup.”
“They do not labor because of hope—they struggle because they fear death.”
She extended pale, slender fingers, pointing at the soldiers standing on the city wall.
“Your soldiers—they are very strong.”
“But they will grow tired, will be injured, will age, and ultimately will become cold corpses on the battlefield, just like the magical beast you ate tonight.”
She paused, her voice taking on a peculiarly seductive fanaticism.
“Father God? Light and glory? To whom do those belong?”
“They belong to those kings and grand nobles sitting in warm castles with abundant food and clothing.”
“Will their god protect you, the exiled one?”
“Will they save those refugees who, cornered with no way out on the wasteland, could only come seek refuge with you?”
“No, they will not.”
Elizabeth asked and answered herself, her voice suddenly rising.
“Their god will only watch from on high as you suffer, then use hypocritical doctrine to tell you this is the deity's trial!”
“But our god, the Lord of White Bone, is the true god belonging to the forsaken!”
“They walk the earth, embracing every departed soul. They never hypocritically promise an afterlife paradise. They only grant the most real eternal peace!”
Her words, like a spell, caused many soldiers of common origin on the city wall to begin showing complex, wavering expressions.
They remembered their family members who had starved to death, remembered those companions who had fallen on the path of pioneering.
The priests of the Luminous Church had never appeared when they needed them most, sending only the nobles' airy platitude of “the deity is with you.”
Caesar's pupils contracted slightly.
What a sharp tongue.
She did not directly refute but cleverly bound class opposition with religious opposition, precisely touching the most sensitive nerve in the hearts of these “forsaken people.”
“Finished?”
Caesar coldly interrupted her sermon.
“If you came only to deliver this impassioned speech, then you may leave.”
“My city does not welcome you.”
“Of course it's not just a speech.”
Elizabeth seemed to have anticipated his reaction. She smiled faintly, that smile making her face instantly vivid, yet also adding several degrees of eeriness.
“Lord Caesar, you are worried about the approaching winter, are you not?”
She said pointedly.
“You worry about food shortages, worry about increasingly frequent magical beast attacks, and even more worry about…… what kind of gift the relatives in your magnificent castle will send.”
“You need power. An army that will not tire, will not fear, will not betray, and is vast in number.”
Elizabeth slowly spread her arms, as if embracing the entire night.
“And I—the Church of White Bone—can grant you all of this.”
Before her words finished, she extended one hand, palm upward.
A mass of dense gray-black mist seemingly condensed from pure darkness and death energy appeared from nothing in her palm, slowly rotating.
She drew from her bosom a long-dead crow corpse with disheveled feathers and gently placed it atop that mass of mist.
Under everyone's horrified gaze, that gray-black mist, as if possessing life, transformed into countless tiny tendrils and burrowed into the crow's corpse.
The next second, that crow which should have been stiff and cold suddenly convulsed violently.
In its eyes that had long lost their luster, two pinpoints of evil crimson light suddenly blazed!
“CAW—!”
An unbearably hoarse cry rang out.
The crow flapped its stiff wings, wobbling as it flew up from Elizabeth's hand, circled her once, then landed on her shoulder, using those crimson eyes to stare fixedly at Caesar on the city wall.
Atop the city wall, deathly silence.
Everyone was shocked speechless by this scene of desecrating life and toying with death.
Roland's face had already turned ashen, the hand gripping his sword hilt bulging with veins, a suppressed growl emerging from his throat, as if he might leap from the city wall at any moment to shred that woman along with that ominous crow.
Barrett's one eye was also full of horror, but more than that was a complex emotion mixing curiosity with greed.
An army…… that would not die?
That thought, like a viper, raised its head in his heart.
“Necromancy.”
Caesar finally spoke, his voice cold as the most bitter wind on the Wailing Wastes.
“This is your gospel? Awakening the dead from their slumber and turning them into puppets to be commanded?”
“This is not a puppet, my lord.”
Elizabeth stroked the crow's stiff feathers, her tone fanatical and devout.
“This is salvation.”
“My master calls them back from nothingness, grants them eternal existence, allows them to continue contributing their strength to the ones they love, the city they love.”
“Imagine, my lord—those workers who unfortunately died during construction, those soldiers who sacrificed themselves in battle—they need not return to dust.”
“They can become the most loyal guards, patrolling day and night.”
“They can become the most diligent laborers, tirelessly mining ore, building the city.”
“Your people will no longer fear death, because death is merely another form of beginning.”
“And you will possess an inexhaustible, endlessly usable great army.”
In Elizabeth's eyes, a near-mad light flickered.
“Now, tell me, Lord Caesar.”
“Do you refuse this gift from the deity?”
On the entire city wall, everyone's gaze converged on Caesar.
Refuse? Or accept?
This choice would determine this city's future—whether it would walk toward new life, or…… fall into the abyss.
Caesar looked at that fanatical saint, then at the undead crow radiating an ominous aura on her shoulder, and fell silent for a long while.
Then, he laughed.
It was a cold laugh filled with contempt and disdain.
“Saint Elizabeth, your proposal does indeed sound very tempting.”
He said slowly, his voice not loud, yet allowing everyone present to hear clearly.
“But unfortunately, I refuse.”
The smile on Elizabeth's face froze for the first time.
“Why?”
She asked incomprehensibly.
“You should understand the value in this!”
“Value? Of course I understand.”
Caesar's gaze became sharp as a blade.
“I understand that once I accept your gift, this city of mine will transform from a City of Miracles into a city of the undead that everyone has the right to destroy.”
“I understand that I will completely stand in opposition to the Luminous Church and even all mainstream forces throughout the entire empire.”
“I understand even more that a force not under my control, no matter how tempting it appears, is only a cup of poison wrapped in sugar coating.”
He stepped forward, looking down condescendingly at Elizabeth. A pressure originating from a Grand Knight and dragonkin bloodline, like an invisible boulder, crushed toward the woman below.
“My people are living human beings.”
“They will cry, will laugh, will grow tired, will be injured, but they possess their own will.”
“What I need are comrades who can fight alongside me, not a group of walking corpses without thought who only know how to obey orders!”
“I, Caesar Valerius, will establish a domain belonging to the living!”
“Your white bones, your undead, and that ridiculous salvation theory of yours—take them away.”
Caesar's voice was decisive, leaving no room whatsoever.
“Now, take your church and leave my domain.”
“This is my final warning.”
The air seemed to freeze in that moment.
Elizabeth stood quietly in place, feeling that powerful and pure will emanating from Caesar. In those unfathomable black eyes, a trace of surprise flickered past, along with a trace of…… even stronger interest.
She did not grow angry at being refused, but instead showed that eerie smile again.
“You truly are…… a most unusual lord, Lord Caesar.”
She did not argue further, only bowed slightly, performing an impeccable noble courtesy.
“Since you temporarily cannot understand my master's goodwill, we are willing to wait.”
“Wait for when you truly need us.”
She turned around, taking graceful steps, slowly walking toward her own group.
That undead crow let out a piercing cry, spread its wings and flew up, disappearing into the boundless night.
The group of black-robed figures remained silent. They followed behind Elizabeth, like receding tide waters, soundlessly retreating toward the distant darkness.
“My lord, we're just letting them leave like this?”
Roland walked to Caesar's side, asking in a low voice, his tone full of unwillingness.
In his view, these heretics should have been purified on the spot.
“Killing them would only bring more, stronger enemies.”
“A necromancy church that dares to operate openly within the empire's borders—their strength is definitely not as simple as what we've seen.”
Caesar shook his head, gazing profoundly in the direction where those black shadows had disappeared.
“However, I also don't plan to just let them leave like this.”
He turned his head to look at Roland, eyes cold.
“Send Dragon's Fang men to follow them from a distance.”
“I want to know whether they have any other strongholds on this wasteland.”
He looked at Barrett again.
“Barrett, clear out an isolated barracks in the most remote corner of the eastern city.”
“If they return, invite them to stay there.”
“Assign double the guards—watch them twenty-four hours a day. No one is permitted private contact with them.”
“My lord, you mean…… they will return?”
Barrett asked, puzzled.
“They will.”
The corner of Caesar's mouth curved into a cold arc.
“A starving wolf that has discovered a pasture full of fat sheep—even if driven away by the shepherd, it will never leave easily.”
“It will only watch from the shadows, waiting for the pasture to show a weakness, or…… waiting for the day the shepherd actively seeks its aid.”
Caesar turned around, no longer looking at the darkness outside the city, but casting his gaze toward his own city where the lights were gradually extinguishing.
The appearance of the Church of White Bone, like a stone cast into a lake surface, stirred up circle after circle of complex ripples on his originally clear plan.
This was a threat, but at the same time…… also a potential variable.
He returned to the lord's manor, sitting alone in the darkness, his consciousness sinking into the system space.
In the corner, the young dragon named Nero seemed to sense its master's troubled mood and let out low whimpers.
Caesar's will transformed into a hand, soothingly stroking its smooth scales.
Life and death.
Light and white bone.
This world was far more complex than he had imagined.
But he had no choice but to firmly grasp all the chess pieces in his own hands.
Whether living, or…… dead.