A Priest's Life as a Villain

Chapter 023

"The Haskinderun expedition has been decided."

Bern, having gathered the inquisitors in one place, declared this.

There was immediate backlash. Inquisitors were not soldiers. They were mercenaries on the payroll of the Holy Church, not the Emperor. They had no obligation to go to war.

Tracker Felix, spoke on behalf of the others, voicing these concerns.

"You're right, Felix. We'll set out in joint formation with the holy knights. At this point, it's hard to back out. I can't reveal everything, but you're all aware that the existence of the Special Unit is on shaky ground, aren't you?"

"Captain, don't overestimate us. The holy knights have no authority for offensive operations except under the Holy Church and Imperial self-defense. There's no way the emperor at the front has already given his approval. Whatever the reason, raising an army like this is blatant treason."

From a corner, Zima—leaning with his back against the wall—laughed boisterously. He strode toward Bern, taking a huge bite out of the apple in his hand. The juice dripped down his beard.

"Felix. You've gotten a bit too big for your boots."

"? Don't tell me this was your plan all along, Zima?"

"Of course. So, what are you going to do about it?"

Felix could only gulp, giving no reply. Zima glanced around at the other inquisitors while noisily chewing his apple.

"Cause, justification... if you need one, just make it up. All you have to do is follow orders. If you're so smart, take off your uniform and use your head on your own time."

With new recruits added, the Special Unit's inquisitors at headquarters numbered twenty. Every one of them had some direct or indirect connection to Zima before joining. Though they didn't know details, they understood Zima had deep ties to the imperial army's high command. If they wanted to stay in the army, they'd need to watch themselves around him.

Zima clapped Bern on the shoulder and left the hall. Bern continued.

"Zima will command our side. As for the inquisitors, only volunteers will be selected. No pressure."

The word "volunteer" stirred up the crowd again. Since being called to headquarters, the inquisitors—who had barely even known each other—had grown much closer. Small groups huddled together, busily debating the situation.

Peco looked up at Ran amidst the commotion.

"We have to go, right? I mean, my father's going, so how could we not take part?"

Ran's next target was the holy knights. His original plan to weaken the Special Unit through the Revolutionaries, then deal with the holy knights with a diminished Special Unit, was now infeasible.

'Zima is a man of high risk. But he could also hold the key to breaking this stalemate.'

A useful tool, or a massive obstacle.

For the ultimate goal of collapsing the mainland Holy Church, Zima would be one or the other.

There were too many questions that could only be answered by keeping a close watch on him.

Why was he, who had stubbornly insisted on seclusion to keep out of worldly affairs, suddenly stepping forward to support the Special Unit? Above all, what was the true nature of the "vessel"?

'Emma is just a pitiful child, nothing more.'

A nagging discomfort wouldn't leave him. In the worst case, that show of pity that day could have been the pivotal moment that sent the girl's life into ruin.

Ran nodded calmly, hiding his unease.

"Of course, we're going."

* * *

A few days later, the joint 'Haskinderun Suppression Force'—a combined hundred-strong group of holy knights and Special Unit members—set out on their expedition.

A young holy knight approached Zima and bowed.

"Sir Zima, your reputation precedes you. I am Demian Hildebrandt, commander of the holy knights."

"Reputation? For a humble dog seller like me? Hildebrandt... That would be the same house that led the assault on Castle Luc, no?"

"Yes, that's right. I am the third son of Count Hildebrandt. Unfortunately, I was only an apprentice during the Luc siege, so I couldn't participate."

"I've dined with your father, drunk with him—done it all. I know just how fine a man Count Hildebrandt is. He's raised his children perfectly as well. Good, I like you already."

"Thank you. I look forward to working with you."

Sunlight made Demian's blond hair shine even more brilliantly. After nodding to the inquisitors behind Zima, demian returned to his unit.

Of the fifty Special Unit members, ten were inquisitors—half of those mustered at headquarters volunteered for this mission.

"I know that bastard. He was arrogant at the meeting."

Hank narrowed his eyes. Most inquisitors weren't wearing masks, and Hank was among them. Instead, he'd painted his face with heavy Northland warrior markings.

Zima twitched the corners of his mouth at Hank.

"If you don't like him, go rough him up, Hank. The holy knights have a similar trial-by-combat culture as your duel courts. Every god favors the strong. Nyahaha."

Haskinderun stood with the Astana Mountains—like a great roof—at its back, in the continent's far north. It was a cold land, chilled by the biting winds from beyond the mountains' frozen wilds.

"The House of Haskinderun was one of the rebel pillars. I'd heard they escaped death, and now they've sparked this mess."

"If they managed to retake their territory, they must have quite a force, don't you think, father?"

"I expect so. The stalemate on the eastern front rekindled their dying embers. They'll have scraped together every rebel hiding like drowned rats. And who's to say? Maybe they brought in some crafty dark mage to swell their ranks."

Used to the mild southern climate, Peco hunched his neck into his cloak, bothered by the cold wind.

Ran buttoned up his coat tightly and looked at Zima.

'When the Emperor returns, the Holy Church will be held accountable. The Special Unit and even the holy knights will be in trouble.'

Before the rebellious Haskinderun faction, stocked with many cultists, could launch a surprise attack on Gerinhild from the mountains—they had to be suppressed.

That was the justification for the Special Unit and the holy knights' deployment. Before the Emperor's return, they needed to rack up merits—even by force—to make up for past mistakes.

"In a way, our real enemy is the 3rd Army guarding the west. We have to outpace them."

His words were barbed, but his expression was relaxed. Those behind Zima listened closely. Demian, especially, seemed attentive—he'd heard much about Zima from his father.

'A warrior's warrior who seeks no worldly honor. A master swordsman said to surpass the Empire's Four Blades.'

In times of war, only personal strength matters. All causes spring from the sword. Only those who grip a bloodstained blade are qualified.

Demian was a nobleman with deep faith, but also a holy knight who embraced this spirit of the age. Admiration transcended his rank and affiliation; to him, Zima was more than qualified.

"Increase the march speed. Everyone's ready for the cold, yes?"

Zima pulled at his reins.

Ran glanced sideways at the small wagon running parallel to Zima's horse. Inside was Emma.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Northern seasons came fast. The cold, dry wind howled fiercely, and the dried earth turned ashen.

A week into the march.

At last, the suppression force arrived in the region of Haskinderun.

"No sign of interception or ambush. But, on the other side of the river—there's a village nearby where people are being held. It's off our route."

Peco had returned from scouting and reported to Zima.

"People being held?"

"Yes, father. They appeared to be local denizens who resisted the rebels and were captured. Even including their guards, the numbers weren't high."

Zima glanced toward the village. The steaming breaths of horses and the fighters rose in wan, frosty clouds, waiting for his order.

"We ignore them and move on."

There was no single commander for the suppression force. Zima and Demian each led their contingents of fifty. Demian, out of respect, had simply and tacitly conceded the overall command to Zima.

"Sir Zima! What are you saying?!"

Demian urgently blocked Zima's path. Sunlit silver armor and a white horse's mane shone behind him.

"I said it before, this is a swift strike. We have no time to delay."

"If they're people who resisted the rebels, they must surely be faithful of the Lord. I can't turn my back on their suffering!"

Demian wouldn't budge an inch. His sword was meant for moments like this, where he wouldn't have to yield his convictions. He reminded himself of the chivalric code.

Zima chuckled dryly.

"Noble holy knight, have you forgotten our main mission? We're here to wipe out the rebels before they take full root, not engage in relief work. If you insist, do charity after the assignment."

"Sir Zima, I respect you. But this time, I must hold to my belief. With no official commander for the suppression force, this can't even be counted as insubordination."

Holy knights in formation fell in behind Demian—each face set, swayed by the earnest will of this young, capable knight.

Zima shook his head.

"That's not a bad point. Better to do something than waste time here, then. Here's what we'll do. It's dangerous if more than half the force splits off. Take ten holy knights. In exchange, we'll send all our inquisitors. That way the numbers are even. Half and half."

"Thank you, sir Zima."

Demian bowed and promptly chose his team.

Zima also glanced over the inquisitors at the head of the Special Unit. Approaching Ran—arms crossed on his horse—he spoke.

"Ran. You just here for sightseeing?"

"What are you implying? I'm freezing already."

"Still going around unarmed and acting aloof as ever, huh?"

Ran, not even wanting to respond, just pulled his mask deep over his face.

Zima scoffed, unwrapping the thick fur slung like a cloak over his shoulders. At his belt, several sword hilts were stuck. He pulled one out haphazardly and tossed it to Ran.

"Take it. You might need it this time."

Pretending not to care, Ran drew a hand's width from the sheath. The sound told him immediately it was in poor shape—sure enough, the blade was nicked and pitted as if gnawed by insects.

'If he was going to give me something, he could've picked one in decent shape.'

Zima and Demian agreed on a rallying point and time, then split up. Naturally, demian took charge of the detachment.

"What is your relationship with Sir Zima?"

Demian asked Ran and Peco. He was genuinely curious about their calling Zima 'father'.

Peco's skin glimpsed under his mask was dark. Ran didn't look related either.

"Uh, well, heh. How do I explain...?"

"We belonged to the mercenary band he owned."

Ran answered briefly. Demian somehow felt embarrassed; he smiled awkwardly and nodded.

It wasn't long before the detachment reached the riverside. The village could be seen faintly in the distance. Shielding his eyes from the sun, demian squinted.

"Peco, how many guards did you see?"

"At the village entrance watchtower, there were archers, one at each post. Inside, only a few patrols with weapons."

The detachment all dismounted and crossed the river.

Ran kept a wary eye on the village entrance.

'No guards.'

As soon as they reached the opposite bank, demian noticed the same thing. The old palisade around the village had no sentries at all.

"I—I have endured enough."

Suddenly Hank got up and strode alone toward the village entrance. Demian tried to call him back, but it was useless.

"Damn it! Let's just follow at a distance!"

He knew what kind of people the inquisitors were—there was no point expecting obedience.

"Ah! There's a smell of blood over there!"

"No, that's the stench of demons, that distinct rotten stink."

One by one, the inquisitors bounded forward like hungry beasts stalking prey.

'With Zima gone, they're running wild like untamed horses!'

Only Ran, Peco, and one more inquisitor in a reindeer mask stayed at Demian's side.

"What the—? The place is deserted!"

Inquisitors who reached the village first shouted as they searched everywhere. There weren't even any prisoners, let alone guards.

"Huh? H—hey, I definitely saw them!"

Peco clutched his head, stamping his feet. The village was utterly empty, not a single rat in sight.

"They must've noticed us coming."

Demian sighed, feeling regret for even the brief time wasted arguing with Zima.

After searching the entire village, the holy knights and inquisitors had nothing to show but shrugged shoulders.

Ran stood alone, staring fixedly at one spot in the village.

'What's this?'

He quickly pushed down his mask.

A strange demonic energy—the like of which he'd never encountered—rattled his mind. He started dry heaving uncontrollably, unable to stand the stench.

"Ran? Are you all right?"

Peco grabbed his shoulder. Ran shook off his hand and approached Demian.

"? Over there. Focus your men."

"Hm?"

Demian turned to follow Ran's gaze, which pointed toward the village entrance opposite from where they'd come in. Beside it stood a large granary.

Demian, half-doubting, decided to gather everyone there anyway. In their current situation, they had nothing to lose.

Creeaak.

A holy knight carefully opened the door. The rusty iron door swung inward without resistance. Ran stood beside him, holding his breath.

"H—Help...?"

There was a noise. The entire detachment snapped to attention, clutching their weapons. The holy knight beside Ran even stepped back and drew his sword.

A tense silence fell.

No more sounds followed. The inside was pitch black, so nothing could be seen.

"Please, help me...?"

A young man emerged from inside, looking utterly ragged, as if he'd been held captive.

"P—Please..."

He collapsed, sobbing. The whole detachment seemed at a loss, and with tension easing, they tried to look further inside.

Demian cautiously approached the young man first.

"Don't worry. We're not here to harm—"

Slash!

Ran brought his sword down on the man's neck. His head rolled and came to a stop at Demian's feet. Shocked, demian stared at Ran.

Ran, expressionless, tossed the broken sword over his shoulder.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
That's why he's called mad dog Ran.
His actions seem inconceivable to other people.
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】