Chapter 295: Meaningless, Meaningless
“Convincing just one earl?” Hod repeated.
“Yes, just one earl will be enough.” Puniel straightened his back, looked at Hod, and spoke.
Hod glanced at the map, then raised his head to look at Puniel. “Then what do I gain?”
Puniel said, “Bishop Marl should have already told you—you will gain fame and honor.”
“And after that?” Hod asked.
“What happens afterward depends on you.” The admiration in Puniel’s eyes faded. He sat back down in his chair and continued, “You only need three hundred elite warriors—that was your request. And you only need to make this proposal to one earl. We will even push things forward with some of our own influence. We promise to give you three hundred warriors. Even if your surname Hoover and your own strength cannot attract that many, we will make up the difference.”
“To tell the truth, our relations within Earl Leonard’s territory are already in place. Just a little maneuvering, and he will agree to establish a mercenary tavern. But we prefer peace. Rather than letting Leonard bear a prejudice against us, I’d rather see a win-win—and in fact, with you, it could even be a three-way win.”
“Of course, this is also because you once saved Bishop Marl. That is why he is willing to help you.”
Puniel’s tone gradually grew impatient.
But Hod did not back down. He said, “Just as you do not consider me, with noble blood, to be a fool, Earl Leonard, as a true earl, will also not be so foolish. Perhaps he has already become wary of you, which is why you cannot push forward any further.”
Cooper, standing to the side, added, “The three great trials of the North are wolf, bear, and dragon. The dragon is legend, the bear is strength, and the wolf is wisdom.”
Hod continued, “The most you can do is stir up some unrest in his territory. But northern nobles do not care about uprisings. They would rather kill everything clean, even down to leaving only their family alive, and then buy slaves from elsewhere to repopulate their lands. I suppose once your merchants and northerners start dealing with each other, the first thing they’ll want to buy is slaves.”
“Believe me, Hoover blood runs in my veins. I know northern nobles will do this, and they have the strength to do it. That is what northern nobles are—arrogant, yes, but undeniably strong.”
Puniel’s face regained a smile, his tone shifting back to satisfaction. “We can provide your warriors with suitable equipment. Each will have fine leather armor, sharp blades, and sturdy shields. We will also give you twenty full suits of iron armor to arm a personal guard.”
“We will also give you five thousand York gold coins. That will be enough for you to rebuild a fortress for the House of Hoover upon the ruins.”
“We will even send merchants to the Hoover Territory. Your Hoover lands are in the east, yes? Right now, no merchants are willing to go there.”
“With these added, I think the payment should be sufficient.”
In truth, this much was already more than enough.
“Not enough,” Hod said.
Puniel’s face did not change. “What else do you want?”
Instead of answering, Hod asked, “Are you so confident you can swallow the North?”
Puniel replied, “We are friendly. We only wish to help the common folk of the North live better lives. Our Senate has never intended to swallow the Northern Kingdom. For us, truly swallowing the North across the vast Northwind Mountains would incur an enormous cost of governance.”
Hod agreed. It was precisely because of the cost of governance that, even when the Supreme King had risen and the North radiated strong aggression, they never focused their main force westward. Toward the principalities of Greenwood, they only demanded food tributes.
It was only after the North lost the Supreme King and fell into division that Marquis Demitri, after a few clashes with the Hoover family, stopped tributes and shifted to trade.
But the Church and the Senate were not the same—and only the Church truly cared about the lives of common folk.
Thus Hod said, “I need a promise.”
“A promise?” Puniel asked.
Hod nodded. “Yes, a promise. That no matter when, the Kingdom of Lundex and the Church of the Sanctuary must acknowledge that the bloodline of the Hoover family contains a marquis, and acknowledge the Hoover family’s rule over the Hoover Territory.”
Puniel leaned back in his chair. “Then your price is not enough. Besides, this is not something I can decide.”
“What if I can persuade a marquis?” Hod asked.
“Not enough,” Puniel replied.
“Then what about the King of the North?” Hod pressed.
Puniel sat upright, eyes grave as he looked at Hod. “Still not enough.”
“If the King of the North were willing to let all the North accept the faith of the Church of the Sanctuary?” Hod asked.
Puniel fell silent.
Hod was not in a hurry. He picked up the honey wine he had not touched until now and took a sip.
Mercenaries were served poor-quality rye beer. They drank heartily, but honey wine was too expensive for such drinking.
This was not meant as hospitality for Hod—Puniel simply could not stomach rye beer.
When Hod finished that sip, Puniel stood and said, “This is not for me to decide.”
“Then who can decide?” Hod asked.
“I can decide.”
The voice came from behind—calm, but with a note of youth that could not be hidden.
Both men froze as the sound of the door opening followed. Puniel’s face instantly bloomed with a smile. He pushed back his chair to greet the newcomer. “Priest Agamemnon, had I known you were coming, we should have gone to the Bee and Hook Tavern. This place might soil your shoes.”
Puniel’s obsequiousness made Cooper’s eye twitch.
Hod’s gaze shifted to the figures behind Agamemnon: Leo and Vito, clad in silver-white armor. Their eyes were indifferent, looking at Hod as if he were a stranger on the street.
Agamemnon smiled at Puniel. “We all walk upon the same earth. How could walking upon it soil our shoes?”
“You are right, your wisdom is praiseworthy,” Puniel said.
Cooper felt his stomach turn, while Leo and Vito’s eyes twitched.
Agamemnon said, “If you lacked even this much wisdom, perhaps your fief should be given to a wiser lord. What do you think of Viscount Bevan? You could trade lands with him.”
Puniel immediately straightened, saying, “I think he is more suited to the coast, where ships will set sail carrying merchants and goods. That is his responsibility. As for me, though my wisdom is small, with the aid of the Church’s priests, my fief will pay enough taxes by next year.”
The coast had once been rich with fisheries, but fishmen had devoured nearly everything. With neither people nor resources, Bevan was practically starting from nothing.
Puniel’s fief, by contrast, was in the former Light Port trade district—fertile and prosperous under Bevan’s control, complete with a fortress-town and harbor, and pressed close against the expanded York Territory. It ensured his closeness to the seat of power.
That was why he groveled before Agamemnon—he was a viscount now, after all.
Agamemnon ignored him, instead walking to Puniel’s chair. As he sat, Puniel conveniently pushed it forward for him.
Agamemnon looked at Hod, who still stood, gestured for him to sit, and said, “Your request, I will not grant. Even if you gave us all of the North, even if you sought recognition only as a baron, I would not grant it.”
Hod sat down. “I once recited the Holy Scriptures. I know the Church will never leave the North’s traditions unchanged. So even if I regained my title, in the end, it would be meaningless.”
“Since you know this,” Agamemnon said, “then you should understand—the Church will never grant what you seek.”
Hod fell silent.
Agamemnon continued, “Whether you help persuade an earl or the King of the North, it makes no difference to the Church. The North is not as important as you think. And if you truly memorized the Scriptures, you should know that mercenaries are steeped in sin. It is only that some sins cannot be avoided—and they are better than bandits—that their existence is tolerated.”
“Furthermore, even now the Church cannot provide enough priests for Greenwood. Even if the North became devout, there would be no clergy to send.”
“And finally, faith won through negotiation does not take root in the heart.”
“Therefore, your condition is meaningless to the Church.”
Hod stared at him. “You mean to wage war against the North?”
“Who can know the future?” Agamemnon answered. “For now, the greatest issue for the North is the Annihilation Fiends.”
“The Church’s monasteries keep records from scholars about the Lords of Annihilation. Of course, you cannot enter a monastery now, and ordinary apprentices are not allowed to read those texts.”
“But I can tell you this: the nobles of the North are blinded by arrogance. They do not grasp what the Lords of Annihilation signify. They will pay for their sins.”
Hod’s expression darkened. “If that is true, the Church cannot remain apart. By the will of the Lord of Dominion, He will not spare Greenwood. The one who bore His will once nearly slain by the Pope himself, fled to Hoover lands—that was what destroyed our fief.”
His voice caught, then steadied again. “I do not say this to condemn or to threaten the Church. My respect for the Pope has never wavered. That the Hoover lands were destroyed only proves we northerners were not strong enough. Neither I nor my brother, nor even the Northern Kingdom, have ever thought the Church owed Hoover a debt.”
“I only wish to say, if the Lord of Dominion is as strong as you say, then the North and Greenwood should unite against the invasion of Annihilation.”
Agamemnon paid Hod’s words no mind. “Then you should understand even more—your condition is meaningless to the Church.”
Hod was silent. He glanced at Puniel, who only looked down, checking if his new boots were still clean.
He looked at Leo and Vito—hands on the hilts at their waists, eyes full of visible vigilance fixed on him and Cooper.
He looked at Cooper, who hesitated, wanting to speak but holding back.
At last Hod looked at Agamemnon, his voice almost pleading. “How heavy a blow will the Lord of Dominion’s power deal the North?”
“Who can know the future?” Agamemnon replied.
“I can give up my condition,” Hod said. “I only want an answer.”
“Who can know the future?” Agamemnon repeated. “And besides—even for a single York copper coin, your price is not enough. What you offer has no meaning for the Church.”
Hod’s face grew grim. His hand touched the wooden box beside him.
At once, two pairs of eyes locked on him. Their vigilance made Hod tense instinctively.
Glancing at Leo and Vito, Hod finally shifted back to Agamemnon. “Then what if I trade the Hunting Fang for this answer?”
“That is a Holy Relic of the Church,” Agamemnon said coldly. “The Pope has simply not reclaimed it yet. So even this condition has no meaning. If you would trade a Holy Relic, that is to make yourself an enemy of the Church.”
Hod’s hand trembled.
Cooper could no longer bear it. He slammed the table, stood, and glared at Agamemnon.
With a swift scrape of steel, Leo and Vito drew their swords, crossing them against Cooper’s shoulders. A single push, and his head would fall.
But Cooper ignored the blades grazing his skin. He only stared at Agamemnon. “Brat, what do you truly want? Say it directly—there’s no need to humiliate Hoover blood like this.”