After some further questioning, it became clear they wouldn't get anything more out of him. The nobles decided to call it quits for now. A new question surfaced in Rogue's mind. "These secrets should be among the Sacred Church's most classified information. How did you come to know them?"
Ian smiled bitterly. "At this point, I have no reason to hide it from you. I was the 24th Cardinal of the Sacred Church. To pursue the whereabouts of the Purgatorial Angel statue, I voluntarily abandoned all my Holy Light power twenty-five years ago and became an ordinary mage, settling here. Ah, who would have thought that over twenty years of hard work would be snatched away by the Snow Fox first? I had other plans, and success was nearly within my grasp, but then I encountered you. The will of heaven... it is indeed the will of heaven."
Rogue said with a mocking grin, "As for that statue, old chap, you needn't concern yourself with it anymore. Ophirok is, after all, a Temple Knight of the Church, so in the end, the Church got it anyway. It's just that your twenty-plus years of effort were all for nothing. Heh. We originally thought we'd just captured a common mayor, never expecting to bag a Cardinal. Our sincerest apologies, haha!"
In truth, the noble reprobates knew they had stirred up a hornet's nest they shouldn't have. Ian, as a Cardinal, held an important position. Even though he had lived incognito for over twenty years, the Church would certainly have records. They had been so blatant about the whole affair; covering it up was impossible. They couldn't very well slaughter everyone in Le Mans, could they? Worried, they knew that having incurred such deep enmity with Ian, there was no turning back now.
Rogue wore a smile on his face, but his heart was heavy. The centuries of life experience of the Necromancer hadn't been passed on to the fat man, but it had taught him to consider everything: the good points, the bad points, the opposing views, the impossibilities, what others wouldn't dare think, and the most reasonable and unreasonable angles. The advantages and disadvantages of this method were obvious. The upside was a comprehensive view and thorough consideration. The downsides were numerous: considering everything didn't guarantee a correct conclusion, and overthinking could easily lead to forgetting the most critical point. But for a lawless fat man like Rogue, it often led to some fantastically unconventional solutions.
Knowing that worrying was useless now, they signaled to a mercenary behind them, and the nobles filed out of the interrogation room. Although these men could be called utterly wicked, they weren't bloodthirsty killers. If they could have someone else do the killing, that was naturally for the best. The iron door slammed shut behind them, but a muffled groan still found its way through the crack, worming into the reprobates' ears.
"Damn it! Catching someone in this godforsaken place, and it turns out to be a Cardinal! Our luck is just the worst," Keith said, his face gloomy.
Franco also sighed. "It looks like there's no easy way out of this now. We can't cover it up, so we'll have to think of another way. Ian's family must be eradicated, root and stem! That way, even if an investigation comes from above, we can at least ensure there are no witnesses to testify against us."
Rogue thought for a moment and said, "Don't panic just yet. This situation might not be hopeless. First, we were the ones who retrieved the Purgatorial Angel statue. That's a significant merit. Even if the merit doesn't fully offset the crime, it at least gives us some room to maneuver. Ophirok seems to value us somewhat; he should give us at least partial credit for this merit and isn't likely to claim it all for himself. Besides, given his status and background, he has no need to squabble over such a minor achievement."
The fat man paused, then continued, "With this merit as a foundation, we also need someone within the Sacred Church willing to speak for us. There's a Cardinal in Lyon City, goes by the name Burke, right? It seems we'll need to put some serious effort into cultivating this man. Don't worry if he's greedy for wealth; fear only that he has no vices. Even if he truly has none, we'll create some for him! We must cater to his tastes! I've heard the current Pope's health is failing. No Cardinal would want a sudden new competitor appearing. Franco, you're good at this sort of thing."
Everyone stared at Rogue as if he were a monster. Rogue's face reddened slightly, feeling a bit guilty. He pulled out a book from his robes, *Continental Chronicles: Affairs of the Sacred Church*, and chuckled, "Just happened to be reading this recently. Applying knowledge flexibly, you see." Everyone nearly fainted. Lance initially wanted to mock Rogue, suggesting he should be reading a 'Biography of Treacherous Ministers,' but after considering his own lack of moral high ground, he let it go.
Lance thought for a moment and said, "We can't let that old traitor Ian's son and daughter off either. Silencing them is necessary, but ensuring it's foolproof is a challenge. I secretly captured that Fayla alone; besides a few of our trusted men, no one else knows. But this Guta is a bit harder to handle."
Keith said coldly, "That's easy enough. We'll say we captured Snow Fox spies. Dress up Ian's corpse to look alive and transport him and Guta to the capital. Hire a small mercenary band of about ten men to escort them. Then, we'll take a few dozen men, disguise ourselves as bandits, and ambush them halfway. Leave no survivors. We can throw Ian and Guta off a deep cliff—make it look like they were taken, no bodies, no evidence. As for that girl Fayla, she's not bad looking. Let's have some fun with her for a couple more days. Then, let those few who are in the know have a 'taste' as well, so they're equally implicated. We'll reward them heavily afterward; that should seal their lips."
The others could only sigh in admiration. It seemed Keith was usually quite reserved, but now he was revealing hidden depths. With the plan settled, the reprobates felt considerably more at ease. As they talked, they entered the cell where Fayla and Guta were held.
Guta's large frame was chained to the wall, and he had long since lost consciousness. He was naked, his muscles solid but also showing signs of flabbiness. Though there was some blood on his body, there were no conspicuously obvious wounds, a testament to the Dragon and Beauty mercenaries' skill in the art of torture.
Fayla was tied like a dog to a four-legged bench, which was about half again as tall as a standard bench, apparently specially designed for interrogation. Her hands were pulled high by a chain hanging from the ceiling, her upper body raised. Her feet were semi-suspended in shackles fixed to the bench legs. A rope around her waist bound her tightly to the bench, maximizing the exposure of her curves—a typical Lance setup. A few torturer mercenaries in the room were cleaning up and tending to Guta's wounds—after all, a healthy subject could endure more torture. Their lecherous eyes kept darting towards Fayla's body.
The reprobates were very satisfied with the mercenaries' professionalism. It was clear that during their absence, these men hadn't laid a hand on Fayla indiscriminately. Franco ordered the torturers to wake Guta up. A bucket of cold water did the trick, and Guta awoke with a start. Taking in the scene, he shuddered and immediately began pleading for mercy loudly; it seemed the earlier 'session' with the mercenaries had left a deep impression.
The reprobates ignored Guta's pleas. Fayla immediately cried out. The degenerates chuckled darkly.
Lance had been the first to taste the soup, and now he watched the show while tormenting Guta. This big, brawny man could only beg for mercy, and under Lance's threats, he stared fixedly at his sister. After a while, he actually became aroused. Lance glanced over and sneered, "You donkey, you're truly inhuman! Even I feel inferior! But that tool of yours really is like a donkey's!" Guta nodded and bowed, agreeing repeatedly, his eyes glued to the scene.
At some point, Fayla had stopped crying and screaming. She simply endured silently, doing whatever they told her to do. Rogue had long since finished and stood watching Fayla's eyes. A chill slowly crept into his heart. That look in her eyes was so familiar. Suddenly, Keith let out a sharp cry, his Sacred Battle Aura flaring brightly as he stumbled back several steps. He had been bitten. Fortunately, his Battle Aura's protection meant the wound wasn't severe, but Fayla's mouth was full of blood, and two of her teeth had been shattered. Furious, Keith moved to kill her. At that moment, words like "Angel," "Law of Space," "Samsara," and "Purgatory" flashed through Rogue's mind like lightning. A sudden insight, from who knows where, made him grab Keith and say gravely, "We must not let her die now!"
Rogue waved his hand, sending out several Wind Blades that severed Guta's chains. He coldly commanded, "You seemed to be enjoying the show. I'll give you a chance to live. Go and take her, and I'll spare your life!" He kept his voice low, ensuring Fayla didn't hear.
Guta gritted his teeth, walked behind Fayla, hesitated for a moment, and finally, the desire to live overcame the last shred of his conscience.
Fayla had closed her eyes, waiting for death. When Guta's hands touched her, she thought it was another noble. But hearing the wrong voice, she looked back and saw it was her own brother. Immediately, a heart-wrenching, shrill cry tore from her. Rogue's icy voice, as if drifting from the coldest depths of hell, stated word by word, "This time, let's see how you escape from Purgatory! Let's see how you come back for revenge! You'd better give up that idea!"
A weight lifted from Rogue's heart. But his relief was short-lived. An aged voice echoed in his memory: "One must not push things to the absolute... One must not push things to the absolute..." The fat man's brow furrowed again.
With the evil deed done, the cleanup couldn't be neglected. Within a few days, over a dozen obscure wandering warriors were hired. Led by Franco, they escorted Ian and Guta east towards Lyon City. The team traveled by day and rested by night. On the third day, about a hundred miles out and just as they were about to leave the mountains, Keith, leading fifty followers, blocked their path. What followed went very smoothly. The wandering warriors were no match for Keith's martial prowess, and Franco suddenly struck from behind. Within ten minutes, the entire escort was wiped out.
The entire cleanup operation took over ten days. During this time, Rogue and Lance weren't idle in the territory. They spent seven days touring every village in the domain. The land was rugged, the climate harsh, and being close to the Demon Domain Forest, magical beasts were frequent visitors. Moreover, its location on the border made it essentially a no-man's-land. Fortunately, the Duchy of Bavaria hadn't collected taxes here for over twenty years, so although life was hard, the people managed to get by. The harsh environment bred a simple yet tough folk, uneducated, adhering to primitive creeds like 'the strong rule,' 'an eye for an eye,' and 'a tooth for a tooth.' The townspeople of Le Mans had even once considered fighting the Ducal Knight Order.
After the tour, Rogue's worries multiplied. Collecting taxes from the inhabitants wasn't feasible right now—not because they refused, but because there was simply nothing to collect. Rogue outright declared this year's taxes waived. But the trip wasn't without gains; the fifty-plus sturdy mountain men following them were a harvest. These men, hunters since childhood, were agile and skilled with blade and bow, making excellent mercenary material. With his silver tongue and promises of tangible benefits for their families—essentially just food and warmth—Rogue secured the loyalty of these simple mountain folk. These visible, concrete rewards were enough to make them follow him wholeheartedly.
The fine iron ore production was gradually getting on track, which eased Rogue's mind a bit. However, the road from Cyrus Castle out of the mountains was terrible, limiting how much product could be transported. Building a proper road was no small task; it would take at least half a year to a year. For now, they could only slowly transport the highest-grade ore. The mined ore piled up more and more within Cyrus Castle, but fortunately, the abandoned castle had plenty of space, and no one was likely to steal iron ore.
One of the dwarf Jin's apprentices had already arrived from Faerburg to oversee the mining operation. With the dwarves' innate sensitivity to ore, after just two days of guidance, he had made significant finds: besides several extremely rare fine iron cores, they had dug out a high-quality Flame Gem. Encouraged by this success, the dwarf's enthusiasm soared. He spent almost every waking moment in the mines, sleeping being the only exception. In his words, this mine was a treasure bestowed upon the dwarves by the heavens. Just touching the ore each day gave him immense joy.
Renovating the castle was another major challenge. It wasn't just the huge cost; finding skilled craftsmen in this desolate place wasn't easy. Rogue wandered the castle, restless and irritable. Only seeing the laborers growing stronger and more vigorous in their work lifted his spirits somewhat.
The laborers looked upon the fat man with immense reverence and gratitude. Wherever Rogue went, everyone worked with redoubled effort, even to the point of a few individuals rushing forward to kiss his boots. This was more gratifying than any flattery. Rogue was overjoyed, feeling as if he were floating on clouds. He thought to himself, "Damn, this is just too much. Hell, if it were a bunch of beautiful women rushing up, that would be more like it, haha! Would someone of my stature be moved by such petty flattery? But they do seem sincere. Maybe I am a bit heroic and majestic after all. Who would have thought these laborers had such discerning eyes, hahahaha!" Later on, Rogue felt something was missing if he didn't see the laborers in a day.
A letter came from Ete, who was recuperating in Lyon City. His wounds were healing very slowly, leaving him without the energy to fool around with women. Fess was busy relocating the 'Hammer of the War God' to Lyon City. Lyon, the capital of the Duchy of Bavaria, had a population of over a million, making it the second-largest city in the Alliance. With its convenient transportation, rich surrounding resources, and the Duchy's long history and powerful military, the city was immensely prosperous. Looking around, it seemed rich men walked the streets everywhere, and nobles were as common as dogs. For the famously high-quality 'Hammer of the War God,' this was a perfect environment. Ophirok provided a rather impressive four-story building on Lyon's busiest Fifth Avenue and one hundred thousand gold coins for the 'Hammer of the War God' to use, fulfilling his earlier promise.
On the third day after Keith and Franco returned from handling the cleanup, an envoy from the Duchy of Bavaria arrived. Surprisingly, the Sacred Church also sent a Bishop.
In the winter of the Sacred Calendar 685, the noble reprobates were formally enfeoffed. Keith was made a 2nd Class Knight and was to be assigned to the Bavarian army, reportedly to the Lionheart Knight Order as a Lieutenant Colonel Cavalry Captain. Rogue and the others were all made 3rd Class Knights, formally stepping into the ranks of the nobility. Rogue was appointed Acting Lord of Cyrus Castle, Franco became the High Judge, and Lance became the Treasurer. As for the 'Dragon and Beauty' mercenary group, it was incorporated, becoming the 5th Independent Battalion of the 3rd Knight Order of the Duchy of Bavaria. Rogue became the Major Battalion Commander, and the others all became Majors as deputy commanders. Judging by these appointments, the Duchy seemed to know its men well and placed them suitably—a rare occurrence in official circles. It appeared Ophirok had pulled some strings behind the scenes.
The Duchy of Bavaria's 3rd Knight Order was essentially a reserve corps. Its main force was one regular knight battalion; the other three independent battalions were incorporated mercenary groups that had performed great services, each around a thousand strong. In combat, the 3rd Knight Order's tasks were often either mopping up or serving as cannon fodder—though this, of course, wasn't publicized. This independent battalion gave Rogue a quota of five hundred men, a rare honor for the currently hundred-strong 'Dragon and Beauty' mercenaries. Notably, the Duchy provided thirty gold coins per soldier for equipment and an annual salary of ten gold coins—enough to equip a knight. Of course, with the 'Hammer of the War God' as their source of wealth, the 'Dragon and Beauty' mercenaries' equipment was so fine it nearly rivaled the elite battalions of the Duchy's 1st Knight Order, the Lionheart Knights.
The arriving Bishop initially gave the nobles a scare, but they soon learned he was sent by Cardinal Burke to bestow honors upon them. The reason given was the reprobates' 'outstanding contribution to spreading the glory of God.' The scoundrels knew this was pure nonsense—unless it was the glory of the God of Death they were spreading. It seemed this was the reward for presenting the Purgatorial Angel statue.
The Bishop was named Gernard Hart, forty-five years old, with a kind face and a holy aura, said to be one of Cardinal Burke's trusted confidants. In his youth, Gernard Hart had been a rather famous Sacred Knight, wielding the replica divine sword 'Last Judgment' (there were claims of hundreds of knights across the continent asserting their swords were the true Last Judgment). After a narrow escape during a hunt for the Necromancer Roderick, he resolutely abandoned the martial path for the clerical, devoting himself to spreading the Lord's glory.
Seeing the dilapidated state of Cyrus Castle, the Bishop was displeased, though he showed nothing on his face. He just sat in the Lord's manor hall, making idle conversation with Rogue and the others. How shrewd were these reprobates? They had already noticed that hint of displeasure. Rogue immediately moved closer and, seizing the moment when the envoy went out to relieve himself, presented an exquisite small golden box. Gernard Hart immediately beamed, seeing the box itself was valuable. Upon opening it, he gasped aloud. Inside was a tulip made of pure gold, its petals so thin they were almost transparent, dyed a brilliant crimson by a small amount of fire element sealed within. Above the tulip was a small, condensed mass of water element, mist curling around it, causing several dewdrops to perpetually roll on the petals.
It took Gernard Hart a moment to recover. As a Bishop, he loved wealth but usually had to maintain a saintly appearance, making it hard to ask for money directly. Such a masterpiece was a rare sight for him. The Bishop immediately closed the box, carefully placed it in his robe, and the reprobates instantly became God's most devout believers in his eyes.
A moment later, the envoy returned, looking very satisfied and chatting amiably with Franco who followed him. Clearly, his harvest had been plentiful as well. From then on, host and guests were all joyful, the atmosphere harmonious.
After the Lord's manor hall was properly arranged, Gernard Hart began the investiture ceremony for the nobles. Keith received a Saint Angel Medal, symbolizing a Sacred Knight. Rogue and the others received Cross Medals, symbolizing the most devout believers. Originally, the Bishop was to award Bronze Medals, but this time, he skipped the Silver and Gold levels directly to Sacred Silver Medals. The Bishop always carried a full set of medals for such occasions, deciding on the spot. Seeing these young, capable men, and planning to take them to Burke in Lyon for some... networking... given their merits, the Sacred Silver Medals were a minor matter.
Next was the blessing with holy water. This holy water was no ordinary thing; sprinkled on their heads, it made everyone feel refreshed and invigorated. Only Rogue was different. Each drop felt like being scorched by fierce flames, paining him so much he grimaced, tears rolling down, yet he couldn't cry out, only grit his teeth and endure. In his heart, the fat man cursed the inventor of this holy water, his ancestors, and all the female relatives of his lineage. Seeing Rogue's apparent emotional reaction during the anointing, even to the point of tears, the Bishop couldn't help but be moved. Well-traveled and sharp-eyed, he had seen countless hypocrites in his years of preaching, but how many were as devout as this? Moved, he deliberately gave Rogue an extra generous portion of holy water.
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