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n“How did he die, exactly?” Sylvester inquired.

nBishop Lazark started speaking in detail. “Our mentor was a brilliant necromancer, as he taught it to me and EX10. He was too old by the time I was an adult, but his power was still in his prime. His demise was not sudden, as he had been sick for a long time. He spent his last few days in bed. That’s all I know. This has to be another man with the same name, Lord Bard.”

nSylvester understood that Bishop Lazark was not a very talkative man. What he said about his teacher was not very helpful, but it was enough to raise some doubts.

n“Did you see his dead body?” Sylvester asked.

n“No, I had to leave for my church examination when he was too sick. It was my brother who gave him company during his last days. I don’t like my brother, but even he won’t lie to me about our teacher.”

n“Unless he was a part of the plan.” Sir Dolorem interjected.

nBishop Lazark fell into silence. He could see his brother joining his mentor if something sinister was under development. “Should I speak with my brother?”

n“I don’t trust him to speak the truth.” Sylvester started. “We should look for your mentor instead. He is likely inside the royal castle of the Grand Duke of Patch. Since we are already headed there, we will eventually confront him.”

n“From that, I remembered something.” Sir Dolorem stood up and walked over to Sylvester. Since the times were too dangerous, the old knight had removed his eyepatch so he could be at his peak. “You promised the men a victory with no casualties. We want to know how you will achieve that, Lord Bard.”

nSylvester burned away the parchment from the Bright Mother and walked over to his bag. He took out two sheets of paper and handed them to Sir Dolorem. “I was about to get to it, Sir Dolorem. I have a special assignment that will determine whether we are victorious or not.”

nInterest piqued, Sir Dolorem read the two pages in calmness. However, by the end of it, his heart refused to remain the same. “Is this true? If it is, then… This could change not just the current battle but the course of the future for the Sorrow Kingdom.”

n“Exactly, Sir Dolorem. That is why you must leave immediately, for I have no idea what the future holds. Or if the Grand Duke has any secret hands in the play.” Sylvester took out a pouch filled with gold. “Use it all, do all you must, but fulfil the assignment.”

n“Understood, Lord Bard.” Sir Dolorem saluted Sylvester. “May the Holy Light Enlighten us.”

nWasting no more time, the old wizard-knight packed his luggage and left immediately in the middle of the night. He secretly left the camp, took his horse and rushed into The Patch’s territory from a secret location.

nBishop Lazark was not informed about where Sir Dolorem went, nor did the man ask. He was still curious about Sylvester’s plan, however. “How do you plan on fighting without suffering a casualty?”

nSylvester merely smiled and clapped his hands together. “The Lord shall guide us. Worry not.”

n“Meow Meow!”

nBishop Lazark looked at his undead cat. “Yes? What happened, Harpy?”

nBut it was Miraj who made the noise. So Sylvester picked up the fluffy white boy and left the room to speak with him since he was being too noisy.

n“What happened?” he brought Miraj to Monastery’s rooftop.

n“Ah! Itchy, Maxy! I feel so itchy on my back. I can’t reach it either… Please help!” Miraj frantically rolled on the brick roof, trying to scratch his back.

nSylvester quickly picked Miraj in his arms and began to scratch. However, just as he brushed his palm over him, he felt something. ‘What the… those strange bone spurs have increased in size. Is this cancer?’

n“Chonky, do you feel pain when I touch your back or press it?” Sylvester asked while doing so.

nMiraj shook his chubby head. “No, I only feel itchy. Why? Is there something strange?”

nSylvester scratched his head with one hand. “My friend, you are either going to die… Or grow wings.” 𝚍ｎ𝚘ｖ𝚕.𝚝

n“…”

nMiraj’s pretty blue eyes opened wide, and his jaw fell in shock. “W-What? But I’m immortal… That makes no sense. I feel no pain, so how can I die? It’s like seeing a pimple and saying you will die… You have so many pimples on your back, Maxy! Will you die?”

nSylvester shrugged. “Well, who knows? I might just die tomorrow. I’m not immortal, after all.”

n“…”

nBam!

nMiraj suddenly jumped and hugged Sylvester on his neck at the front. “I’m sad now.”

n“Well, I’m sure a banana will cheer you up. As for the itchiness, I will apply that ice magic again since it relaxed you the last time.” So Sylvester sat down and spent quality time with his first friend in the new world.

nLately, he didn’t get much time to talk with Miraj, as people always surrounded him. But he missed sharing time with him since Miraj was pure in mind and too loyal in the heart.

nBoth didn’t sleep that night and just talked about anything and everything. One moment they’d talk about looting the entire world, and the second, Miraj would ask what the moon tastes like. It was bizarre and funny, but it was their moment.

nThe night went by like that, and the morning sun showered them with scorching heat. Of course, it was the south, and the heat was usually unbearable. But the people had grown used to it. After all, what was mere heat when the question was about the life and death of one’s child and wife?

n“Soldiers! Stand in formation!” The marching commander roared at the front.

nThirty thousand strong peasant army prepared to make their final march right into the heartland of the enemy territory. Their journey was going to be hard as they were to cross The Barrier mountain range, a cold and harsh range that divided the Sorrow Kingdom and The Patch. It was the first wall of protection for The Patch.

nThump! Thump!

nSoon, the marching drums began, and the soldiers’ combined footsteps echoed throughout the camp. The refugees all saw the mighty army, some felt pride, some felt fear and some longed to join.

nThump! Thump!

nSylvester remained at the front and rode his horse beside Archbishop Nelson’s carriage. “Just a little more, and soon you will witness the downfall of the Grand Duke.”

n“You seem too confident, ‘priest’ Jonathan,” Archbishop said from inside the carriage. His voice held a hint of ridicule.

n‘So he is now certain that I’m not a mere priest?’ Sylvester saw through him.

n“Of course, I’m never confident about something unless I’m certain about the outcome. Furthermore, I never leave all eggs in one basket,” Sylvester replied cryptically.

n“Those are quite big words for a priest; I must say,” Archbishop added.

nSylvester simply chuckled and picked up the pace. He didn’t want to show his true identity before ensuring something.

nSlowly, the army crossed the Snake River and then entered the mountain range. They didn’t face any trouble crossing it, as the terrain was such that even the defending army would dare not battle there.

nSo the peasant army moved unabated and, in 2 days, crossed The Barrier range. But, beyond, all they could see was greenery, which made the peasant army tear up. They longed for that land — it was taken from them forcibly by the evil Duke.

nThe sight of green fields only made their resolve stronger. They didn’t care about Sylvester’s guarantee of an easy victory anymore. If they had to spill their blood, they were ready to do it.

nPaa!

nA trumpet resounded from a few kilometres ahead. The scouts had found something, and it was the signal. In response, the entire army slowed their pace and spread around a bit for better management.

nAt the front, Sylvester began to prepare himself for the inevitable. He ate a few solarium crystals, donned his helmet and picked up his spear. It was his real spear, not his disguised weapon.

nPaa! Paa!

nSoon, two loud sounds of trumpets came, and the signal was clear. An enemy army was spotted, and it was time to prepare.

nThud! Thud! Thud!

nThe drummers conveyed the message through drum patterns. The army slowly came to a halt and began to set up a camp for the preparation on the grassland. It was going to be the backwards camp where the healers, the cooks, and some other support staff would stay.

nAfter three more hours, opposite to Sylvester and his army, another army appeared in the distance, also making its camps. Their numbers were significantly higher than what Sylvester had, sadly. Not only that, they had a bigger headache to offer.

nIn the large tent, Sylvester, Bishop Lazark, Archbishop Nelson, Count Bradley, and a few more commanders gathered. Count Bradley had sent his spies ahead on the road to gather intelligence about the enemy’s army.

n“The odds are stacked against us.” Count Bradley notified all men. “We are merely thirty-five thousand, but they number nearly a hundred thousand. Furthermore, they seem to have ten-thousand heavy cavalry and… five hundred war elephants.”

nFaces turned pale in that room, and morale dropped to the floor. Heavy cavalry was already a pain in the back, but the elephants were a menace. They were war machines not easily controllable, and each one of them could do extensive damage to the peasant army.

nThe Count continued. “That is not our only problem. The intelligence specifically mentions that the commanders of the enemy army are the Grand Wizard-Knight Einarr and the Grand Duke Victor Zee Maverick, himself — who is also a Grand Wizard.”

nBreaths became faster, and the army commanders felt their knees going weak. One of them was particularly vocal. “W-We should have taken the help of those Anti-Light followers. Now we are doomed… How many Grand Wizards do we have? NONE!”

n“Calm down, Karlson, or I will make you.” Count Bradley threatened his commander, and his mere gazes were enough.

nArchbishop Nelson, in his wheelchair, looked at the area map and then glanced at Sylvester. “I’m sure the man who brought us here is the most eligible to speak.”

nSylvester nodded. “As I said, not a single man will die tomorrow. Everything will be taken care of, as god wills so.”

n“That’s not enough, priest.” Count Bradley erupted. “I know you are not what we see. Tell us, who are you truly? Why should we put our trust in you?”

nSylvester clapped his hands and prayed before heading out of the tent.

n“You will know tomorrow what is hidden — Worry not; fate has already been written. May the Holy Light enlighten us.”

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