Chapter 43 : Chapter 43
Chapter 43: Sacred Relic and the Misstep
However, fear could not translate into effective attacks.
The archers on the walls had long since had their courage shattered by those two moving bone mountains, their hands shaking so badly they could barely draw their bows.
The arrows they shot were weak and powerless, scattered and sparse. Forget about penetrating that gray barrier shrouding the black-robed formation—even their aim was utterly off.
Marcus didn't even bother looking up.
He simply watched those two accelerating “masterpieces” with the gaze one might use to appreciate artwork.
“BOOM!!”
The first white bone monstrosity, using its shoulder composed of giant beast scapulae, slammed viciously into Grayrock Town's gate.
A deafening crash.
That gate, reinforced with double-layered hardwood and iron sheeting, instantly caved inward in a terrifying arc.
Countless wood splinters and iron nails shot into the city like exploding shrapnel, instantly turning the dozen or so guards behind the gate who'd been trying to brace it with their bodies and wooden beams into bloody, riddled sieves.
The shrill screams didn't even have time to escape before being drowned out by a second, even more terrifying impact.
“CRASH—!”
The second white bone monstrosity followed immediately after, slamming into the exact same spot in the exact same way.
This time the gate could endure no longer.
Accompanied by teeth-aching sounds of splintering wood and twisting metal, the entire massive gate, along with the stone blocks around the frame, was violently torn from the wall structure and sent flying inward, sweeping like a giant scythe to crush everything alive in a straight line behind the gateway into pulp.
A huge, pitch-black breach appeared in Grayrock Town's defensive system.
On the walls, a deathly silence.
All the guards stared blankly at that gateway that seemed to lead to the depths of hell itself, forgetting to breathe, forgetting to think.
“My lord says, the barriers mortals build are nothing but children's sandcastles before the face of death.”
Marcus's voice, like that of a broken bellows, drifted leisurely up from below the walls, reaching clearly into every person's ears.
He waved his hand forward.
“Go, my children. Bring my lord's gospel to these lost lambs.”
The thirty black-robed figures called Silent Apostles, like a silent black tide, soundlessly passed through the shattered gate and surged into Grayrock Town.
They had no battle cries, no roars.
Only a suffocating silence, and the cold sound of curved blades leaving their sheaths.
The slaughter began.
Each of these black-robed figures possessed agility and strength far exceeding ordinary soldiers.
Their movements were eerie and efficient, their curved blades like the Reaper's scythe—each swing precisely slitting a guard's throat.
They seemed to have no sense of pain. Even when run through the shoulder by a spear, they would merely pull it out expressionlessly, then drive their weapons into the enemy's heart with even greater speed.
More terrifying still were those bottles and jars they carried.
One black-robed figure casually smashed a clay jar on the ground, and grayish-green powder instantly spread outward.
The several guards nearby merely inhaled a single breath before collapsing to the ground in full-body convulsions, their skin rotting and blackening at a visible rate. In just a few breaths, they'd become pools of pus giving off black vapor.
This wasn't battle—this was a one-sided “purification” filled with the stench of blasphemy.
Baron Ralph on the walls watched helplessly as his hundred-plus relatively elite guards were slaughtered to the last man by this pack of black demons in less than ten minutes.
His whole body shook like a leaf in the autumn wind, warm liquid running down his pant leg, giving off a foul reek of urine.
He was finished.
This thought hammered into his skull like a cold iron weight.
He was going to die.
He would be like those guards—throat slit, or turned into a pool of pus.
“No… no! I can't die! I haven't lived enough yet!”
The instinct for survival finally overcame that bone-deep terror.
As if remembering some lifeline, he scrambled out from behind the battlement and ran desperately toward the Lord's Manor.
As he ran, he fumbled from within his luxurious silk undershirt for a fist-sized object wrapped in layers of oilcloth.
It was a badge forged from holy silver, carved with the Light Church's most sacred symbol—a burning sun.
This was a “talisman” he'd bought years ago from a fallen great noble in the Imperial Capital, spending most of his family fortune.
Supposedly it had been a certain saint's personal possession, used to block three fatal attacks during their execution.
He'd always thought himself swindled, treating the thing as expensive psychological comfort.
But now, this was his only hope!
Marcus noticed that richly dressed fat man.
He recognized him as this town's master.
“Catch him. His soul will be the finest offering to my lord.”
He issued the order in his hoarse voice.
The two nearest black-robed figures immediately gave chase in Ralph's direction.
Ralph heard those nearly soundless footsteps behind him. Terror drained his soul as he used every ounce of strength to tear open the oilcloth wrapping the badge.
He placed all his hopes on this cold badge, using every bit of strength in his body to shriek at the top of his lungs.
“Father God above! Save me!!”
Just as those two black-robed figures' curved blades were about to touch his back.
That holy silver badge suddenly erupted with ten-thousand-feet of radiance!
This was no ordinary light.
This was a pure, warm golden brilliance filled with sanctity and majesty.
The radiance, like liquid sunlight, exploded outward with Ralph at its center, instantly enveloping a hundred-meter radius.
“SIZZLE—”
The two black-robed figures charging at the front didn't even have time to scream before, the instant they touched the golden light, they melted and vaporized like ice thrown into lava, leaving only faint wisps of black smoke.
All the black-robed figures within the light's range released anguished howls.
Their black robes ignited, their skin smoking and steaming as if branded by hot irons.
They rolled backward in panic, desperately fleeing that golden domain that was, to them, a veritable purgatory.
Even those two white bone monstrosities rampaging through the town, the instant the light touched them, released soundless soul-shrieks. Countless fine cracks appeared on the bones composing their bodies, the ghostfire in their eye sockets dimming considerably.
They instinctively retreated, withdrawing from that zone causing them extreme agony.
“A… a miracle! It's a miracle!”
On the walls, a surviving guard who witnessed this scene was moved to tears, throwing down his weapon to kneel on the ground, kowtowing madly toward that golden light.
More and more survivors—whether guards or civilians—all knelt down.
In this desperate hell, this sudden sacred radiance became their only spiritual anchor.
Marcus stood outside the light domain, shielding his eyes from the blinding radiance with his arm, his stitched face showing a solemn expression for the first time.
“A saint's relic… damn it, how does this backwater have a sacred relic of this level?”
He cursed under his breath.
He could feel that light domain was filled with pure light and order power, possessing lethal suppression against undead creatures like them.
As long as that radiance didn't fade, they couldn't approach that fat baron by even an inch.
And Ralph, shrouded in the radiance, climbed to his feet from the ground.
He stared blankly at the badge in his hand still emitting soft light, then looked at those black-robed figures outside the domain who dared not approach. The shock on his face gradually gave way to wild joy at having survived.
It's real! This thing is actually real!
He was saved!
But the next second, he saw the burning sun pattern on the badge visibly dimming, even showing a crack.
He immediately understood the object's power was rapidly depleting.
This miracle was temporary!
Once the light faded, he'd still be doomed!
“A messenger! Where's my messenger?”
Like a madman, he roared at those survivors kneeling around him.
“Quick! Saddle the best horse! Go to Lionheart City! Tell Viscount Simon! Tell him Blackrock Town is under attack by heretics! Have him come save me! Go now!!”
One quick-witted guard captain came to his senses, scrambling toward the stables.
Ralph clutched that badge rapidly losing its luster, hiding in the center of the light domain like a beast trapped on an island, watching in terror those covetous black figures outside, and those two white bone monstrosities ready to strike.
He knew all he could do now was wait.
Either wait for Viscount Simon's reinforcements.
Or wait for this light to fade and be torn to shreds by those demons.
……
City of Miracles, Lord's Manor.
Caesar was reviewing the latest population data and food consumption figures with Anneliya.
“At the current consumption rate, even with Earth Potato, our meat reserves will only last until first snow.”
“Once heavy snow blocks the roads and the beast tide erupts, hunting will become difficult. The situation will be dangerous.”
Anneliya's voice was crisp and calm. She'd completely adapted to the clerk's role, her golden hair pinned up with a simple wooden hairpin, her sky-blue eyes gleaming with wisdom's light.
Caesar nodded, his fingers lightly tapping the table.
He was about to order Barrett's Dragon Fang squad to expand their hunting range when urgent hoofbeats, bordering on frantic, broke the city's tranquility from far to near.
A Dragon Fang scout, riding a warhorse nearly run to death, charged into the Lord's Manor courtyard.
He didn't even have time to dismount before rolling off the horse's back and scrambling toward the Council Hall.
“My lord!!”
The scout burst through the doors, one eye swollen like a walnut, his body covered in dust and bloodstains, his voice hoarse from extreme shock and exhaustion.
“Grayrock Town… Grayrock Town held out!”
Caesar's pupils contracted sharply in an instant.
His fingers tapping the table stopped.
“What did you say?”
His voice remained calm, but those familiar with him—like Roland standing nearby—could already sense the surprise beneath that calm.
“They held out!”
The scout gasped for breath, trying to make his description clearer.
“That Church of White Bone pack of monsters summoned two… two bone giants that smashed through the gate in one blow!”
“We all thought Grayrock Town was finished!”
“But… but that Baron Ralph, he pulled out some treasure from somewhere—golden light! My lord! Light like the sun! It lit up the whole town center!”
“Those black-robed monsters turned to smoke the instant they touched the light! The bone giants were blocked outside too! They… they couldn't take Grayrock Town on the first try!”
The scout's face was full of disbelief, as if he'd seen a ghost.
The Council Hall fell deathly silent.
Barrett's single eye was filled with incredulity.
“The fuck… that wine-sack rice-bag has something like that?”
Roland's brow furrowed deeply.
He looked toward Caesar, speaking in a grave voice.
“My lord, it's a sacred relic. And a high-level one at that.”
“Able to instantly purify multiple undead and form a large-scale exorcism domain—this is at least a saint's relic blessed by a cardinal bishop.”
Caesar said nothing.
His mind was operating at terrifying speed.
Sacred relic.
Ralph.
Held out.
These three words, like three stars knocked off their orbits, slammed viciously into his precisely calculated star chart, throwing everything into chaos.
He'd calculated everything.
He'd calculated the Church of White Bone's greed, Ralph's incompetence, Grayrock Town's fragile defenses.
But the one thing he hadn't calculated was that a remote backwater town baron he'd dismissed as a stupid pig would be clutching a trump card sufficient to change the entire situation.
This wasn't the critical point.
The critical point was—Ralph had held out, even if only temporarily. What did this mean?
It meant he had time to call for aid.
The scout's next words confirmed his guess.
“My lord, we saw… saw Ralph dispatch a messenger! Riding at full gallop, headed in the direction of Lionheart City!”
BOOM!
In Caesar's mind, it was as if a taut string had snapped.
A cold fury unlike any before rose from the deepest depths of his heart.
Not because his plans were disrupted, but because the situation's trajectory was beginning to slip beyond his control.
Viscount Simon.
This viper who'd been hiding behind the scenes all along, trying to reap profits—now he held the most perfect, most legitimate justification to mobilize troops.
—His vassal was under attack by forbidden heretics. As suzerain, responding to the call for aid, sending troops to “purify evil”—this fully complied with Imperial law and would even earn commendation from the Light Church!
When that happened, Viscount Simon's army would march into this region in the name of a “righteous force.”
And he, Caesar, this suspicious pioneer with unclear ties to “heretics,” would instantly transform from a hunter quietly making his fortune into prey caught between multiple forces.
He wouldn't just face Viscount Simon's army—he'd face an enraged Church of White Bone that might redirect its wrath toward him, and might even draw the Light Church's Inquisition!
The situation had taken a sharp turn for the worse in an instant!
“Interesting.”
After a long moment, Caesar slowly uttered two words.
He raised his head. All shock and fury had vanished from those deep purple eyes, replaced by something even more profound, more dangerous, more ice-cold.
“Seems I made the wrong move with this hand.”
He turned to face the sand table, looking at those two models representing Grayrock Town and Lionheart City, his gaze growing unfathomably deep.
“Pass my orders.”
“Roland.”
“Here!”
“Black Dragon Guard, all personnel enter combat readiness.”
“Wall defenses raised to maximum level.”
“Have the craftsmen work day and night. I want every ballista and catapult mounted.”
“I don't care what methods they use—within three days, I want the City of Miracles' walls transformed into a fortress that can chew through steel!”
“Barrett.”
“Present, my lord!”
“Dragon Fang squad, full deployment! Break into small units and spread out like a wolf pack along every necessary route from Lionheart City to Grayrock Town.”
“I don't want you attacking proactively, but I want to know the Viscount's army's every movement!”
“How many men they have, how many cavalry, their march speed, when they eat, when they shit—I want to know it all!”
“Anna.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Anneliya's face was also somewhat pale, but she still forced herself to remain composed as she stepped forward.
“In my name, draft a highest-level proclamation.”
Caesar's voice was cold as ice.
“Say we've detected large-scale undead heretics active near Grayrock Town. To preserve the safety of our subjects, the City of Miracles enters indefinite lockdown starting immediately!”
“All personnel outside must return at once, all trade routes completely severed!”
“Until the threat is eliminated, we accept no outsiders. Any strangers attempting to approach the city will be treated as potential enemies and met with warning fire!”
Order after order, like unsheathed swords—precise and swift.
The air in the entire Council Hall seemed to freeze.
Everyone understood—an unprecedented Tempest was about to arrive.
After issuing all his orders, Caesar walked alone to the window.
He looked at his city still developing vigorously, at those subjects still sweating for a bowl of meat soup, a flash of complex emotion passing through his eyes.
He'd wanted to develop quietly a while longer.
Wait for winter to pass, wait for Nero to mature, wait for his army to truly take shape.
But now he had to prepare for the worst-case scenario.
“Since you all want to play so badly…”
He murmured to himself, voice so soft only he could hear.
“Then I'll play a big game with you.”
He raised his head, gazing toward Lionheart City's direction. In those deep purple eyes, two flames—mad and blazing—ignited.
“Let me see whether your Viscount's sword is sharper, or this young dragon's fangs are harder!”