Chapter 166: Human Heart
He put away the letter and brought the white dove into the small, low house.
This was the ruins of Daniels Village.
Overnight, an entire noble family had perished—all burned to death by a strange flame before everyone's eyes. Those who survived in the village were terrified.
They all fled this strange village.
But they were all just commoners. After escaping, they could only be taken in by other villages.
Over time, as no one inhabited or maintained the place, weeds began to grow, and many of the already fragile houses collapsed, turning Daniels Village from an uninhabited village into a wasteland of ruins.
George now lived in the small church he once called home.
After welcoming Marl and the others, George had originally wanted to apply to move to a small church in another village to continue preaching as a monk, but the Bishop did not approve.
George had no choice but to give up that plan. After wandering about, he eventually settled at this small church, which had become ruins.
He cleaned up the ashes left from the burned-down church, brought in some materials, and built this much lower hut, making it his residence.
There was a house for him in the Church Nation’s territory, already built by Cicero, but he only went there occasionally for matters. Most of the time, he stayed here.
The spot where the Lord’s Throne used to be had been converted into a fireplace, currently burning with flames and supporting a rack over which hot soup was being cooked.
George sat beside the fireplace, and the white dove, upon seeing the fire and the simmering soup, fluttered its wings and shrank into the farthest corner of the room from the pot.
George couldn’t help but laugh.
The birdcage had already been put away and stored in the still-unfinished Clock Tower.
Though it was a Holy Relic of the church, Agamemnon had used it with great caution, yet it still had an effect on him.
One day, Agamemnon had awakened inside the birdcage—already turned into a bird.
If not for the Bishop sending George over in advance, Agamemnon might have been plucked and roasted by Olivia, who had been crouching beside the cage, thinking it was abandoned.
Later, it was the Bishop who performed the baptism that allowed Agamemnon to return to normal.
Because of this incident, the dangerous birdcage was stored in the Clock Tower. According to the Bishop, it could not be used again for another ten years.
That was enough, though. During the time Agamemnon had used the birdcage, he had cultivated three types of birds suitable for farming.
One was a turkey—meaty but not particularly tasty; one was a walk-ground chicken, decent in both taste and meat yield. Because of this chicken, Olivia and the others secretly called the white dove a Walk-ground Bird; the last was a pigeon with grayish feathers, bred by the white dove, with the best flavor but the least meat.
Of course, the most delicious was still the white dove.
Because of this, after the birdcage was taken away and they could no longer hide any white doves for themselves, they would from time to time attempt to catch the ones that remained.
Though the white dove would naturally avoid places where they were present—and under the Bishop’s watchful eye—they always fell just short of succeeding.
Judging by this one’s behavior, it had likely just escaped such an attempt.
He reached out and picked up a book from the chair beside him.
It was a book he had been frequently reading recently, a record of his journey north.
It detailed how he had been conferred as an Honorary Knight in the Belair Territory, his encounters in the Nation of Werewolves, matters concerning the Church Nation, and at the end, the vaguely described miracle bestowed by the Lord.
It had been narrated by him and written down by Oscar. Though the wording was somewhat exaggerated, it still broadly aligned with the facts.
However, because of this, his story wasn’t as widely spread as the wildly fabricated ones about Marl and the others.
George had heard that Oscar was conducting an experiment with his apprentices, part of which was to see whether external praise could influence a person's heart.
So they made already exaggerated stories even more outrageous, hired literate individuals to spread them throughout the territory, especially near the returning warriors.
George wasn’t particularly interested in such things, but he did know that the result of the experiment was that some people were affected. They subconsciously believed they had done the things described in Oscar's fabricated tales.
George didn’t understand what use such heart-bewitching experiments had, but Oscar told him that they allowed one to see the human heart clearly.
George merely shook his head and retorted, saying that if one wanted to truly see into human hearts, who could see clearer than the Bishop—he could even know the words people wanted to say deep down.
Yet after he said this, Oscar just patted his shoulder and smiled, saying he was truly a pure Knight.
Oscar had said that with complete fluency.
Later, the Bishop personally declared that George’s story would be stored among the Church’s classics, while Marl’s story would be treated like the humorous writings of old scholars—mere joke literature.
He put the book away. He had read it many times and could recall every word.
His gaze shifted to the armor hanging on the wall, reflecting the glow of the fire.
…
The next day, George arrived at the Great Church, already clad in armor.
“Marl told me to get ready—the church is preparing to march north once again,” George said.
He knelt on one knee, his head lowered.
“Yes. When the bell atop the Clock Tower rings, that is when they set out,” said Bishop Corleon, seated on a pew, his head bowed, voice gentle.
“He wants me to go with them,” George said.
“Judging by your current appearance, have you already made your decision?” Corleon asked.
“Yes. I have rested long enough. There are still people in the Nation of Werewolves suffering,” George said.
“Then act according to your own heart,” Corleon said. “You are one favored by the Lord. The Lord will guide you to fulfill the mission you must complete.”
Thus, George mounted a horse, brought a white dove, and set off for the north.
Compared to his last departure—carrying an Oak Spear and dressed in coarse cloth—this time George looked like a true Knight.
He crossed the border of the York Territory and, after entering the Belair domain, followed the guidance granted by the Prayer Technique toward the region most ravaged by the Wolf Catastrophe.
…
Day turned to night and back to day. On the following day, Belair’s carriage passed along the road George had taken to leave the York Territory.
“So this is the York Territory—the birthplace of Knight George.” Baron Belair stepped out of the carriage.
His clothing was exceptionally simple, looking rather downcast compared to his former splendid attire.
“Such a clean sky, air without a trace of stench,” Belair breathed greedily.
He turned and looked at Knight Julian beside the carriage.
“Once we arrive at York Town, I’ll speak with the officials. Knight Julian, you inquire about Knight George and the Church of the Sanctuary. Although we’ve received fragmented reports, they still need to be verified in person,” he said.
But Knight Julian suddenly pulled the reins and signaled the driver to stop.
“My lord, it seems we won’t need to inquire about the Church of the Sanctuary,” Knight Julian said.
Belair was taken aback. He pushed open the carriage door, stepped out, and looked at the people approaching them on the road ahead.
Four Knights approached, accompanied by their squires. The Knights wore armor marked with white crosses, and their squires held flags not only of their house insignias but also the Cross Flag representing the Church of the Sanctuary.
“Greetings, esteemed Baron Belair. You may call me Knight Borien,” said the leader, riding forward.