Imperial Calendar, October 4, 1444, morning.
This marked the third day since Horn and his companions had left.
The nine decree units led by Prince Kongdai arrived near the Gulag Monastery.
These nine decree units, nominally speaking, were not Kongdai’s personal troops, but the Royal Guard of the Leia Kingdom.
Kongdai was rely the Captain of the Royal Guard under the Captain of the Guard of the Leia Kingdom, yet he still managed to command the nine decree units.
Firstly, the influence of the previous royal family was too far-reaching, with everyone having familial ties inside and out; the nobles couldn’t allow the Lanfeng Dynasty to annihilate the Golden Sparrow, nor could they allow the Golden Sparrow to reclaim the throne.
Secondly, because many of these decree knights were hereditary loyalists to the Golden Sparrow, it was better to let them rally under Kongdai’s banner than to have them defect to the Free City or Norn.
Thirdly, Kongdai was exceptionally promising; he hailed from the temple knights and at the age of twenty-five was promoted to Ninth Rank Imperial Knight. Over the nearly twenty years, he was the only knight to kill a Vampire Duke, earning the Pope’s personal consecration.
Due to his background as a temple knight and the support from the Church, these nine decree units Kongdai led contained a large number of secularized temple knights and their legitimized bastards.
Kongdai frequently faced criticism for supposedly maintaining the Church’s army with the land of the Leia Kingdom.
But this didn’t undermine the triple identity of his bloodline, legality, and religion, allowing this remnant of the previous dynasty to control nearly one-fifth of the high-quality extraordinary power of the kingdom.
As Kongdai stepped onto the road leading to the Gulag Monastery, he sighed helplessly at the tattered monastery before him.
Kongdai had visited here before when he studied at High Castle.
But the dilapidated Gulag Monastery before him was really different from the one in his mories.
If Horn were here, he would certainly sigh that he was wrong.
After he left, the Gulag Monastery underwent trendous changes.
The nearby villagers and displaced people wanted to strip the Gulag Monastery bare after Horn and his group departed.
Tables, chairs, benches, pots, pans, doors, windows, bricks—when no one watched, everything was up for grabs, collected indiscriminately.
Not to ntion the dog head hanging in the Stag Chamber, even the monastery’s large bell and the slag from the electric arc furnace were taken, leaving only a thin layer of manure in the pit.
Strolling leisurely up the stairs at the monastery entrance, Kongdai casually stepped over two vagrants sleeping on the steps and entered the monastery.
The once dazzling flowerbed was now clean, leaving only bare branches.
And so scruffy bandits squatted expectantly by the devastated flowerbed, lighting flower branches and bubbling a stew.
In the foamy soup, a human hand could still be seen ebbing and flowing.
Kongdai walked over, severed their heads with his longsword, and continued onward.
But when he saw that there were no longer those beautiful stained glass windows and arches, only hollowed-out monastery walls, he let out a long sigh.
Especially with thick black smoke billowing from these hollows.
"Your Highness, weren’t you planning to stroll around?" A black-robed monk appeared behind Kongdai, seemingly out of nowhere.
Kongdai shook his head: "I originally wished to revisit so old sites, but was disturbed by this group of vagrants; why did you rush over?"
"The Church has sent a letter for you."
Kongdai tore open the letter in front of the monk, skimd it, and then irritably ripped it to pieces.
"It’s the sa old story; Grandiva also says he can negotiate and support ."
"What are your thoughts, Your Highness?"
Kongdai’s eyelids flickered: "Are you trying to probe my intentions?"
"I wouldn’t dare." The monk imdiately bowed in tribute.
Kongdai gazed at his slender neck, seemingly amused by the absurdity, and turned to leave.
"Your Highness, since those rebels have left, should we continue to pursue them?"
"Pursue them."
"Should we notify High Castle to co and expel these vagrants, or do it ourselves?"
"It doesn’t matter. If you feel the need to vent, go ahead. They stole the Church’s property; they deserve punishnt."
When news concerning Prince Kongdai reached the Pope’s country side, night had already fallen.
In the valley, the villagers had entered their dreams after evening prayers.
At the center of the straw huts was a large tent, the new Pope’s Palace.
The Pope’s Palace was brightly lit, and the Cardinas of the Pope Country were holding an ergency eting.
At this critical mont, Cardinal Madlan went to the hillside, where he found Danji idly sitting.
"A vagrant just reported in," Madlan said, standing across from Danji, starting without context.
Under the moonlight, Danji silently sharpened his sword with a whetstone.
Moonlight spilled across the blade, washing away the rust and dull edge.
"Those knights arrived quickly. They reached the Gulag Monastery this morning," Madlan narrated calmly. "After discovering we weren’t there, they slaughtered the surrounding five villages."
Danji’s hand halted on the sword, and the grating sound duly stopped.
"The vagrants who reported the news ran barefoot, completing in one day what took us two and a half days to travel.
Among them were ordinary refugees, as well as insurgents and bandits.
I asked why they reported this to us, and they said they didn’t know, but at least this way they could find peace of mind.
I’ve visited all those five villages. So sold us grain, so cursed us. I’ve t many of them, I know them."
Danji laid the longsword aside: "If you want, you can hit ."
"I won’t," Madlan shook his head. "You’re innocent, I’d never do such a thing."
Sheathing the longsword, Danji spread his legs and leaned back against the hillside: "I’d rather you punch ."
The mountains surged like tides in the moonlight, the luminous moon wheel like a pool, with countless blades of grass and trees breathing loudly.
At the bottom of the mountain waves, the campsite was a narrow river, and those huts were like fishing boats on the river, swaying with the wind.
"They are all innocent people." Danji pointed at the huts below.
No reply ca.
"I don’t know if I can still be considered a knight." Danji retracted his finger.
Still no reply.
"That day, I heard you talking with Frick, accidentally overheard about you." Danji’s face blended with the moonlight, making his expression unreadable, "Do you mind telling how you ended up in prison?"
Madlan turned his head, staring expressionlessly at Danji’s face, and after a long while, he spoke:
"When I was seven, the kid from the Si Tangge family next door bought a Church amulet, and I pestered my parents for one too. But my family was poor, with younger siblings, and we couldn’t afford it."
Sitting alone, Madlan seed to be in a trance, his voice not loud, but Danji heard it clearly.
"I pestered so much that my father beat , I cried the whole night, and the next day when I went out to play, I saw the Si Tangge kid hang the amulet by the window, with no one watching, so I took it.
When my father and mother saw the amulet in my hand... haha, that was the heaviest beating I’ve ever received in my life.
They told that if I wanted sothing, I should earn it myself, with my own hands."
Madlan pulled out an amulet from his collar, the amulet wrapped in blackened silver, the face of the guarding Saint indistinguishable.
"This is Saint George, the legendary dragon-slaying Saint George." He shook the amulet towards Danji and chuckled, "You can’t recognize it, right? I can’t either.
So when my mother gave it to , I was so angry I tossed it away, thinking it was nothing compared to Si Tangge’s.
My father beat again and spent half the night searching in a muddy pit to find it."
Madlan’s voice was as calm as moonlight, echoing in the night breeze.
"I cried at night, feeling indignant, and my mother said that during my father’s breaks from repairing roofs, he wouldn’t rest but would find white stones by the road and chiselled them into shapes.
When my mother had spare monts from cooking for the townsfolk, she lted silver coins with the fire to inlay the statue.
If the chiselling wasn’t good, they had to find another, if the inlaying wasn’t good, they had to lt again.
In a year’s ti, they used only one Dinar to create this holy image; one Dinar couldn’t buy such a beautiful amulet."
Compared to the first ti he held it, the amulet felt much smaller in his hand.
The once dirt-stained slender fingers had beco broad, dark hands.
His fingertip brushed over Saint George’s indistinguishable face, and Madlan said to it, "Mother said this amulet is ugly, but it was saved up little by little by my father and mother. Having this amulet on ant my father, mother, and Saint George would all be by my side to protect ."
The quiet wind made the moonlight sway along with the hut, and Saint George on the amulet opened his arms as if to embrace Madlan.
"Wearing this amulet, I never stole again. I got into a bakery, working from odd jobs to laborer, from laborer to contract worker, from contract worker to apprentice.
I learned baking astonishingly fast, and the new recipe I ca up with produced white cheese bread that was fragrant and soft, my master told that in at most two years, I could graduate.
During that ti, my father and mother were so happy, our family was going to have a baker.
I was so happy too, so on my birthday, I asked the master if I could take so moldy bread from the bakery ho, I asked him, I asked him!
He said, you can take it, consider it a reward for you.
The next day, I was arrested for stealing bread, looking into my father’s and mother’s eyes was like being burned by fire."
The wind whooshed through the valley, and apart from this sound, there was no other sound in the canyon.
Danji asked softly, "What happened afterward?"
"Initially, I would have been acquitted, there was physical evidence and witnesses, they clearly saw taking the moldy bread under the baker’s gaze.
Then, a knight and the baker walked into the courtroom, they exchanged three to four sentences.
I was sentenced to twelve years.
In the second year after I was imprisoned, my father fell into alcoholism and accidentally broke his neck.
In the fourth year of my imprisonnt, my mother couldn’t bear the gossip of others, pretended to fall into the river, and committed suicide.
I escaped, hoping to see my mother one last ti, but she was buried in a potter’s field because she committed suicide.
I couldn’t find my mother, all the tombstones had collapsed, her bones mixed with others, I couldn’t distinguish them."
Danji had no heavy breathing anymore.
"The Priest from the Church said extraordinary is God’s gift, they also said God is rciful.
The extraordinary are noble people, why did they not seek justice for ? Why did they instead help the wicked by their actions?"
Ti seed to freeze for a second or two after Madlan voiced this question.
Danji laid his knight’s longsword across his knees, right hand gripping the scabbard, and the scabbard trembled slightly, "One day, you will surely clear your na."
Madlan clutched the amulet at his chest tightly, muttering to himself: "But what does it matter? My family is all dead, and to them, in their last monts, I was a thief."
Danji forced a smile, "That knight, he didn’t uphold the chivalric code, he’s not truly a knight..."
"Knight, knight..." Madlan kept his head down, but the amulet pendant in his right hand was gripped tighter and tighter, his voice rising from low to high.
Finally, he straightened his body, sprang up from the rock, seemingly wanting to roar out.
But what ca out was, inexplicably, only a dry and hoarse faint voice: "I didn’t steal the bread..."
After speaking, he stood there like a lost soul.
He stood for a long ti before tucking the amulet back into his collar, silently heading towards the huts.
The howling wind ruffled the grass, scratching at Danji’s ankles.
Danji watched Madlan’s figure disappear over the edge of the hillside.
He drew out the knight’s sword from his hand, and it was aimless and glaringly bright.
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