Chapter 181: Cooperation
“Killing Werewolves requires elite warriors. Knight Julian alone cannot kill many,” Puniel looked at Knight Julian and said, “But since Knight Julian is unwilling to betray his liege, I will not force the matter. However, my mission is also to drive out the Werewolves, so Knight Julian, cooperate with me.”
“Baron Belair is my friend. I will guarantee his safety,” Puniel said, glancing at the shaking Belair, then continued.
“Priest Marl will lead the warriors eastward, advancing along Lake Salvador, while Knight George, like a sharp spear, will head straight to where the Wolf King is. I will hand over all the warriors I brought to you. Their morale is high, and I have only one request.” Puniel raised one finger. “I need you to strike north and reclaim the territory that originally belonged to Baron Belair.”
“Now that Church warriors in the Nation of Werewolves have drawn their attention, I believe Knight Julian will not disappoint me.”
After hearing Puniel’s request, Knight Julian said decisively, “I need to bring under my command Knight Bedi from the northern front, along with the warriors he leads.”
“That is not bringing them under your command, but as the most trusted knight of Baron Belair and his military commander, it is Knight Julian’s rightful duty to take command of his liege’s warriors,” Puniel corrected Knight Julian’s phrasing.
“I will depart tomorrow.” Knight Julian said, not looking at Belair anymore.
“Knight Bode, take Knight Julian to the camp and relay my orders to the warriors,” Puniel told Knight Bode.
“Yes.”
After Knight Bode led Knight Julian away, Puniel sat beside Belair.
“See, this is how a noble should act,” Puniel said kindly to Belair.
“Forever confident, forever strong, unafraid of betrayal, generous in reward—that is how you inspire people to follow you.”
“The gold and gems in your treasury are merely adornments to noble glory. Only when you hold a sharp sword that can protect them do those treasures have true value. If the sword you wield cannot defend their worth, then those gold and gems are just space-hogging clutter.”
“So you see, even though those treasures are things you gathered with effort, I do not need your permission to use them.”
Puniel smiled and then suddenly struck Belair’s lower jaw forcefully.
With a clear crack of bone, Belair felt his breath catch and his head reeling from the blow. Only through strenuous effort could he barely feel air in his lungs.
Instinctively, he raised his hand to resist, but Puniel grasped his wrist and tightly squeezed—his powerful grip crushed the bones at the wrist.
The pain was excruciating, but Belair could not scream.
He could not even control his lower jaw.
“Very good, it seems you do not wish to die,” Puniel released his grip, letting Belair’s arm drop.
He tapped Belair’s shoulder and spoke kindly, “Good that you do not want to die. If you were to die now, and Knight Julian became a rogue knight, it would cause trouble.”
“Stay alive. Maybe then you will be appointed senator. We might even dine together at the same round table.”
After speaking, Puniel grabbed a piece of cloth from the table that had been placed under a ceramic bowl—it was stained with sauce—and gently wiped away Belair’s tears and snot. The more he wiped, the dirtier Belair’s face became. Growing impatient, Puniel finally threw the cloth away.
“I have business to attend to—though not arranging for your elevation to free nobility. You lost that qualification when you foolishly thought to manipulate me. Now, stay alive and observe how nobles deal with unruly local gentry. As your friend, I am personally teaching you noble conduct.”
“Oh, and try out those siege tools that Dean Oscar brought. Test their power this time.”
Puniel turned and left. As he exited the fortress, he loudly called out, “Break his limbs. Find some attendants to care for my friend. Do not let him die, and do not let him have a chance to commit suicide.”
Belair stared in fear as knights approached ever closer.
…
Puniel’s methods were simple and brutal.
That night, he and five knights with their attendants recruited Belair’s former warriors in town.
That night, screams echoed loudly in the camp.
The next day, Puniel, accompanied by knights and warriors, visited each local gentry one by one.
The gentry attempted to plead for mercy, but Puniel first razed their manors. Having killed half the people inside at random, he only then allowed them to kneel and beg him for mercy.
Within just ten days, Puniel had thoroughly plowed through the land behind Belair’s forces, and then appeared before the fortress newly built to the east and guarded by knights.
The three Apprentices of the Monastery finally found a place worthy of deploying the trebuchet they had assembled.
The stones flew with roaring force, smashing into the fortress. A single hurled stone forced the warriors inside to open the gate and attempt surrender.
Yet Puniel, immensely satisfied with the trebuchet’s power, ignored them and laughed, letting the trebuchet continue.
Stones flew ceaselessly. Only after the warriors inside fled and the fortress lay in ruins did he stop.
“Ha ha ha ha, this is beautiful! Now that is something with true taste!” Puniel praised with laughter. “With enough trebuchets, perhaps they can match the power of some minor Holy Relic.”
Then Puniel invited the three apprentices: “Your wisdom is so beautiful. I invite you to join my banner. I will reward you with gold and gems.”
The three apprentices, invited by the baron, exchanged glances.
They knew the first batch of Apprentices of the Monastery had been targeting nobles, and in their understanding, the nobles had been hammered to pieces by those Apprentices. So they politely said they needed time to consider.
They dared not reject outright. In the past days, Puniel and his knights had slaughtered over two thousand people, terrifying these fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds.
Puniel did not care. He did not dare take them out of the monastery before they graduated, and it would be another six months before these second batch apprentices graduated. Then they would make their choice.
Moreover, after February, his son Grego would enter the Church’s Monastery. With Jeffrey there, even if he himself remained here, Jeffrey would guide Grego on what to do.
He believed his child would never be mediocre. Even within the monastery, he would absolutely become the most outstanding person, because Puniel was a noble, and his son Grego carried the noble bloodline.
…
Thick dark clouds obscured the sky.
Beneath his boots, the earth looked soaked in blood—a deep, dark red.
He pressed his foot down on the head of a dead Werewolf and pulled out his crude spear by hand.
The place where the spear pierced the Werewolf looked as if it had been seared, burned until smoking black.
George looked around. Corpses of Werewolves and humans lay strewn.
From York Territory, he had charged here. After leaving the area occupied by Belair, he had scarcely seen any living humans.
He had not expected that the first human traces he encountered would be a scene of slaughter.
Clearly, this was the aftermath of a battle between humans and Werewolves.
Four human bodies lay there, wearing leather armor made from wolf pelts and carrying wolf-skin satchels. Iron bracers bound roughly on their wrists bore marks of Werewolf bites.
Their weapons were crude flanged maces, and a tiny bow stored on a wooden box.
George had never seen such a weapon before.
Eleven Werewolf corpses bore dents from blunt maces and wounds as if pierced by arm-length arrows.
Their hearts were pierced by spears or cleaved by axes—the fatal blow for Werewolves.
This encounter seemed to have gone to the humans. After all, if Werewolves had won, the human bodies would not be so intact.
One wandering Transformed Werewolf, slain by George, lay atop a human corpse, gnawing at it.
“So there are still people holding out in the heart of the Nation of Werewolves,” George thought, feeling a measure of respect for them.
He had crossed the Nation of Werewolves before and knew how absurdly numerous the Werewolves were.
Suddenly, George looked in a direction and saw human figures.
Eight people, led by someone, were running toward this battlefield at a trot.
As they neared, and saw George, the leader waved for them to stop. They removed the small bows mounted on the wooden box backs, drew arrows, and fitted them.
But soon the leader signaled them to lower them, and hurried over.
As they approached, George felt the leader looked familiar.
“Warrior George? Is that you?” the man called out while running. “I am Leo! Leo of Hode’s squad!”
George paused, then cried in surprise, “Warrior Leo! It’s me! You’re alive?!”
Leo drew closer, gasping, “Yes, Vito and I are alive, though Captain Hode’s fate is unknown.”
After saying that, Leo looked George over and said, “You… you are extraordinary. I nearly didn’t recognize you. Only from a vague familiarity did I dare call out.”
Compared to the last time he had seen George, now George had not only golden hair but also paler skin, no longer limping, and wore finely crafted armor.
“Some things have happened,” George smiled but did not elaborate. “But now I am a Guardian Knight.”
“Guardian Knight?! That’s wonderful, congratulations! We should now call you Knight George.” Leo said happily. “Knight George, have you come looking for us?”
George shook his head: “The Bishop ordered us to cleanse the Werewolves—not just me, but also Priest Marl.”
“Priest Marl?”
“The youth you rescued before. Now he is a Priest recognized by the Bishop.”
“That brave young man? It seems many things have happened in the Church during the time we were gone.”
“Yes. Actually Priest Marl and I had already crossed the Nation of Werewolves, though we did not encounter you then.”
Leo heard this and his tone carried no disappointment: “Perhaps it was the Lord’s guidance. If not, we could not have saved so many.”
“Do you have a settlement here?” George asked in surprise.
“Not a settlement, but a town—nearly two thousand people.” Leo said. “We held out with crossbows, protecting the townsfolk.”
“But now it is getting harder. Werewolves have become more active around here recently, and our area of activity has shrunk.”
As they talked, the others gathered around, their eyes filled with awe as they looked at George.
“This is Knight George of the Church of the Sanctuary. The Lord has not abandoned us,” Leo told them.
Hearing this, their awe disappeared. Their eyes became reverent as they gazed at George.
George saw that they all wore the Cross Painted in Blood.