“Lord Bard? We met again… albeit under the same circumstances.”
Sylvester hugged the man, for the necromancer’s reclusiveness was ineffective against his light. It even surprised the man, as his face appeared shocked but also happy from underneath the hood. “It’s good to see you again, Bishop Lazark. How have you been, and what are you doin— Ah! You’re the commander of this Crusader army?”
Bishop Lazark, the amazing necromancer who, despite being a dark wizard, was able to fight and survive a Bloodling twice. He was a man that Sylvester respected because even alone, the man had great might.
“I am… the commander… but in name only. What are you doing here, Lord Bard?” Lazark asked, sounding a bit depressed for some reason.
“We are the support you asked for. You sent someone to the nearby monasteries, asking for any help they could send. Since we were the strongest and the most experienced folks nearby, we came. And this fine lady here is the Tenth Guardian of Light, Lady Aurora.”
The necromancer just nodded, as this was his usual notion of all emotions, whether happy or sad. This was why Sylvester appreciated his ability even more, as he could tell what the man was thinking. He was happy and hopeful.
“How are you doing, Lazark? You sent me no letters… we could have collaborated on more assignments.” He asked him.
Bishop Lazark sighed and pointed at the back, at the river. “I am trying to create a dam here using the undead by making them pile themselves on top of each other.”
“Then what about the other dam they are making in the front?” Sylvester asked.
Bishop Lazark appeared saddened at the mention of that. “Priest, as you know, people are not very apprehensive about my necromancy… and that’s why I have no team either. My second and third-in-command nearly caused a riot against me and nearly killed me, accusing me of being a secret member of the Anti-Light—of being unholy. They’d rather disobey my authority than serve under me. So, here I am, trying to solve the problem I am asked… alone.”
“Those maggots!” Sylvester cursed and showed artificial anger to make Bishop feel he was important to him. “What’s the name of the second-in-command?”
“Prince Harpus Degracia, some small princeling from the branch family of the Gracia family.”
“Oh!” Sylvester exclaimed. It was certainly a surprise but a pleasant one. He was waiting for a moment like this to happen.
He decided to do something about this. “We’re here to deal with the Bloodling, and as I am also a Sanctum Inspector, I am legally bound to reprimand any unsavoury acts done by the crusaders. Come with me, Bishop, let’s deal with this princeling. It’s time he learns that real power lies in the hands of the holy men, not nobles.”
“I hope it won’t cause a riot,” Bishop muttered and followed.
As they arrived with Bishop Lazark behind him, he noticed everyone going silent and glaring at them, mainly Lazark. They scowled, frowned and sometimes called strange names.
For the first time, Sylvester got to see first-hand what Bishop Lazark goes through on a daily basis. This was the reason why he had no teammates, as his necromancy was his boon and bane at the same time. He wondered how a man could keep himself gathered for so long after being abused by those with whom he was meant to sing lord’s hymns.
‘Either Bishop Lazark has the mental fortitude of a god, or he just doesn’t care.’ He thought.
Soon, they were brought to a tent in the back of the camp, away from the river. The supposed second and third-in-commands who mutinied against Bishop Lazard were living there. It was a very lavish tent, and even two men were standing in front of the entrance, guarding it.
Sylvester moved closer to them and showed them his occupational identity document of being a church official. “This is a Holy Crusade—church’s business. Move aside, or I will hold you accountable for what’s about to happen to the two inside.”
The two guards knew better than to mess around at this stage. Everyone loves their head above their shoulders, after all.
Sylvester then pushed open the entrance cloth and glanced inside. The place appeared even more lavish than he initially expected. It was snowy land, so the ground was supposed to be damp. But, here he was, standing on a thick rug, as dry as a desert. There was a heating stove in the middle with a chimney going up, while animal fur was in abundance, spread around. There were also a few chests that were lying open, full of gold and other items.
‘Where did they get these?’
There appeared to be two designated spaces for them to sleep, each at the opposite extreme of the tent. And there seemed to be two people sleeping, evident by the lump of blankets.
“Bishop Lazark, you and the men outside are working so hard and dying, while here, these so-called commanders are sleeping. I can’t tell if they are so confident or just don’t care.” Sylvester boomed loudly.
The two men slowly started to wake up from their sleep and look. The first person to wake up was Prince Harpus Degracia, and his reaction to seeing Sylvester was as expected.
“Y-You’re the priest from that town… my porter!”
Sylvester smilingly walked close to him. “Then let me port you outside.”
“What?”
Bam!
Sylvester caught the man by his black hair and started dragging him out. The Prince was not wearing much under the blanket, so he was instantly hit by the cold.
But then Sylvester abruptly stopped as he found an exposed woman under the blanket, who was just waking up. He was not too shocked but just amazed because they were so far from civilisation. “Where did you find these women?” 𝒷𝓭ℴ𝓋𝓵.𝒸ℴ𝓶
Bishop Lazard responded in a disappointed voice. “These two are high nobles with too much money. They’ve kept women close by on all their journeys. She’s probably some wench he paid from the closest town.”
“Oh, then the charges add up! Blasphemy in the work of faith! You have tarnished the holy crusade.” Sylvester said, and started dragging him out again.
“Aaargh! What do you think you’re doing?”
“I know exactly what I am doing.” Sylvester didn’t go easy on him and held his hair harder. A bit too hard, it seemed.
Thud!
Sylvester lost the grip, and the Prince fell face first on the rug. But on another look, Sylvester realised that he had patched away a piece of the scalp of the Prince. “Well, they can grow again.”
He again caught a different patch and started dragging him to the exit. “Bishop Lazark, drag the other man the same way… and ensure you mistakenly pull a little hard.”
“Argh!”
In no time, two pieces of scalps were on the floor, and two bloodied men were dragged by their hair. Sylvester showed no mercy and would even kick the so-called Prince in the face for wiggling too much. A few times, he’d also try to attack, but then he’d get punched in the face—hence the lack of few frontal teeth and bleeding mouth.
As they got out, the ground was too muddy, so the two men got dirty, and by the time Sylvester dragged them near the centre of the camp, the two were unrecognisable and shivering heavily.
He then addressed the crowd that gathered near him. “Listen to me. I am the Lord’s Bard, Sylvester’s Maximilian. I have come from the Holy Land to ensure that no lapse is made in the crusade. Yet! Here I see mutiny against a Bishop of high rank. I hear that you men rioted against him because he’s a necromancer. I do not know what faith of Solis you follow, but we do not discriminate against magic. All are the same in the eyes of the lord—for all that exists is according to his accord.”
Sylvester waited to see a few heads falling down. He tried to smell the air, which was full of anxiety, for the men were scared. But Sylvester was more angered at a particular bunch.
“All those who are from the clergy, come forth and show your shameless faces.” He ordered.
In an instant, nearly thirty per cent of the men came forward; still, heads held low, for they knew what their folly was.
Sylvester scowled and shamed them openly. “I am ashamed to call you my brother in faith. You know the laws, you know how to identify fake or real identifications, and yet you joined them against the Bishop? The man who has experienced surviving a fight against a bloodling twice? A man who has more knowledge about dark creatures than any?”
“M-My Lord Bard! Please… forgive us! We were enticed by the Prince. He said if he became the commander, his family would send many extra supplies such as food and clothing. We couldn’t kill the bloodling here, so we needed those things as the winter breeze became stronger.” A clergyman in knight’s armour knelt and spoke.
‘Lies!’ Sylvester could smell it from a mile away. He knew already that these men didn’t do it due to some words of a Prince but because of their own prejudice against necromancy. It was understandable, but this was a breaking of the protocol.
However, it was also a fact that he could not punish all of these men, who likely numbered thousands, and he also wished to win them over. But, he could surely create an example for them.
“Get this in your heads, the Bishop shall remain the commander, and you must obey. Or—Don’t mind me if I decide to hold all of you accountable and report to Saint Wazir. The woman beside me is Lady Tenth, the Tenth Guardian of Light, a Grand Wizard. She can instantly burn you with fire—without a need for a pyre.”
He easily threw Lady Aurora under the bus. After all, this was his reason for bringing her anyway. Her status was more helpful when enforcing something.
The Crusaders nodded silently. They had no other choice, even less so with Lady Aurora. They could only gulp their saliva and agree to any order they got.
Meanwhile, Sylvester wondered what to do with these two. He glanced at Bishop Lazark and saw the anger in the man’s eyes. He reckoned the man must have been humiliated and frustrated but couldn’t retaliate even when he could massacre them. It must have been frustrating knowing you have nobody watching your back. ‘Killing these two high nobles could give me minor troubles later. But Bishop’s loyalty to me will only increase if I give him what he wants to see—so death it is.’
Sylvester then looked at the two commanders of the mutiny. “And these two… They shall work at the front to build a dam. No matter what, they shall not be allowed to sit back—and they will get one meal a day.”
“W-We will die! The bloodling will kill us!” Prince Harpus cried.
Sylvester knelt down in front of the Prince and looked him in the eye with a cruel smile that sent shivers down the latter’s spine. “This ‘blondie’ is just doing his job, my Prince. And don’t forget that all men live by God’s plan—but rest easy, if you die… you will have my condolences.”
The Prince knew that he was being given a death sentence. “W-Why are you doing this to me… What do you want? Argh!”
Sylvester pulled him closer by the hair and whispered in his ear. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, my Prince. You are nothing to me, never were and never will be.”
“Please… I will do as you say, don’t let me die… my family will reward you.”
“You’re not fooling me, Prince. You wish to kill me. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me, why should I let a threat to my life live when I have a chance to end it? The moment you tried to kill a follower of mine—you should have prepared your shrine.” Sylvester stood back up and spoke loudly. “Prince, you joined this crusade knowing what could happen on it. Now, do not cower while your brethren are doing the same work—and dying.
“Now, get to work—all of you! I want this dam made by sunset!” He boomed. He had no reason to be kind to these Crusaders for now because it’d be a waste. The actual game of winning their hearts and minds was to come next.
He didn’t waste any more time and walked closer to the riverside. He looked at the clear blue water, and there was no sign of a bloodling in it, but it was there as Sylvester felt the scent of death looming. “We’re going to continue to make a dam. But two instead of one!”
“What are you planning, Lord Bard?” Bishop Lazark asked.
With folded arms and a seriously threatening face, Sylvester smirked at the water… at the bloodling. “Water is the element this bloodling can harness—So I shall turn this same water into its carcass.”
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APE TOGETHER STRONG!