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nSylvester was powerless to alter what had transpired. The Pope’s decision was final, and as a member of the church, it was his obligation to comply with the decrees.

nSo he watched with a somewhat heavy heart as Saint Medico departed for the Holy Land with an extensive entourage of inquisitors. Seated beside the saint in the lavishly adorned carriage was Amy, who, understanding that she was being taken to Sylvester’s abode, did not show any signs of irritation. Instead, she excitedly yelled and waved her hand as the carriage departed from the Wailing City.

n“Bye-bye! Please find me in the Holy Land! Bye Bye!”

nSylvester reciprocated the wave. “Of course, I will bring you to my shop later for tasty treats!”

n“Meow!”

nSuddenly, Miraj, perched atop Sylvester’s head, looked down at him. “Maxy, do I get treats too? I assisted you good this time, didn’t I?”

nSuppressing his laughter, Sylvester caught the adorable furry boy in his arms, squeezing him tightly, and continued to wave at Amy. “Of course, Chonky. I will ask Mum to prepare your favorite banana pie.”

n“Really?” Miraj beamed, his large jaw parting and his tongue lolling out. “I can’t wait… Big Mum is the best!”

n“Now, it is our turn to depart,” Sylvester stated as he strode towards the monastery. There, a modest wooden carriage awaited them, preloaded with their luggage. They had opted to forgo any additional security detail.

n“Your departure leaves me with a sense of unease, Lord Bard. Nonetheless, we must each forge our own paths and strive for the best outcome. I bid you farewell and good fortune.” Einarr embraced Sylvester as one would a brother. “Should you ever require my aid, do not hesitate to summon me. I will stand by your side, even if it means sacrificing my own life.”

n‘That’s what I wanted to hear, buddy.’ Sylvester thought and reciprocated the warm brotherly hug.

n“I hope that day never arrives, Lord Einarr,” Sylvester said as he climbed the carriage and took the reins. “Take care, and speak to me if you ever need counsel regarding administration or, perhaps, some other issue.”

n“HA!”

nSylvester whipped the horses, and the carriage began to move. Beside him, Sir Dolorem and Bishop Lazark rode on their separate horses. It was just three of them, as Count Bradley, who was from the Highland Kingdom, decided to remain in the Sorrow Kingdom and help as many people as possible.

nThey all wore civilian clothing to keep a low profile since Sylvester had gotten too popular inside the Sorrow Kingdom. 𝒷𝒹𝓸𝓿𝓁.𝒸ℴ𝓶

nTheir journey this time was very smooth when it came to dangers on the way. There were no more Widowmakers or other soldiers of The Patch. But still, there were a few bandits that happily offered their throats to Sylvester’s spear, Sir Dolorem’s Sword, and Miraj’s claws. Ultimately, they also graciously offered to become Bishop Lazark’s undead.

nBut, still, the Sorrow Kingdom was in shambles from the massive earthquake. Most of the kingdom lay in ruins, requiring extensive rebuilding. Luckily, Sylvester had overseen the planning for new towns, cities, and villages.

nMeanwhile, the few remaining structures became havens for the displaced, who were grateful for a place to call home once again without being labeled as mere refugees.

nFolks from the Holy Land had begun to arrive and offer their assistance in the immunization of the kingdom. The people now received food and had clean clothes to wear. The kids were taught basic numbers, calculations, and reading since the kingdom required bright minds after the devastation.

nEventually, they journeyed north in the scorching heat, following a side road after leaving the Holy Road highway. They passed through the Dying City, Jharl village, and finally arrived at Last Hay village, where Sylvester first met Bishop Nelson.

nFrom there, they saw the massive Burning Mountain, the place that used to be the home of the Wild Forge, the greatest forge in Sols, until the smiths got greedy and ended up destroying the forge by increasing the fire on the mountain.

nAs they traversed the unnaturally hot pathway, Sylvester proposed, “Sir Dolorem, the Wild Forge entrance remains open. Shall we explore it for any ‘useful’ discoveries?”

nGlancing skyward, Sir Dolorem replied, “We have a dozen hours until dusk. A brief expedition should be feasible.”

nEven Bishop Lazark was interested. “Not often do I get to come this far south.”

nSylvester directed the horses onto a dirt road and halted near Wild Forge’s dilapidated structure. He secured the carriage in the shade and provided water for the overheated horses. Sorrow Kingdom’s heat was already unbearable, but with Burning Mountain beside, it was inhumane.

n“Let’s go.” Sylvester retrieved his spear and a bag of essential battle crystals and potions.

nWild Forge was subterranean, and the structure above served as an entrance, living quarters, and storage facility. Unfortunately, it was mostly in ruins, and they had to clear a considerable amount of debris.

n“I see signs of a campfire here. Someone was here before…quite some time ago,” Bishop Lazark cautioned upon noticing the marks.

nSylvester’s gaze was fixed upon the collapsed ceiling, where he noticed a sword half-buried in the rubble. “We’ve found our way,”

nWith a wave of his hand, he summoned minor Earth magic, manifesting brown runes that materialized into pillars. They lifted the collapsed roof, forging a path ahead.

nHowever, none of them moved further, for they had finally found the main entrance into the forge—a three-meter by three-meter square entry into the ground, with a somewhat broken stone staircase leading downstairs.

nNothing was visible as everything appeared pitch black. They had no idea how deep the stairway went either.

nWoosh!

nSylvester was about to take the first step when he stopped. He found himself frozen in place, his muscles locked in a state of tense rigidity. His face, normally composed and calm, now paled to a ghostly shade of white, his eyes bulging in alarm.

n“R-RUN BACK!” he bellowed, his voice a booming thunderclap that echoed across the surrounding landscape. “As fast as you can!”

nWithout hesitation, Sylvester hurled himself backward, heedless of the consequences, and shoved Sir Dolorem behind him, the two men tumbling back in a chaotic tangle of limbs and armor.

nBoom!

nWithout warning, Sylvester shattered the pillars he had erected and allowed the roof to fall back into place at the entrance. As the debris rained down upon them, they caught sight of a peculiar rune circle engraved with shining molten gold. It was a pattern none of them had ever seen before in their lives.

n“W-What happened, Lord Bard?” Bishop Lazark inquired.

nSylvester’s eyes flickered erratically, and his hands trembled with fear. “I… I had an epiphany… If we had entered it, none of us would have survived… No matter what! That roof… was not there by accident. It’s keeping something inside. Something I don’t wish to encounter.”

nSylvester rubbed his nose as he had never experienced such an intense odor of death, surpassing even his confrontation with the Anti-Light Chief near the Holy Land or any other deadly situation he had faced.

nThis time, it was the scent of absolute death — nothing, absolutely nothing, could have saved him if he had entered the place.

n“I-Is there any ancient legend attached to this place? Regarding the formation of this mountain?” Sylvester asked them while calming himself.

n“I lack knowledge regarding this.” Sir Dolorem denied.

n“I know an absurd story my… mentor told me once.” Bishop Lazark started. “The Legend says that thousands of years ago, even before the formation of the church, an Elder Dragon was slain right on this spot. From the corpse of that Dragon, the Burning Mountain came into existence.”

nSylvester glanced back at the covered entrance. “Then… There is either an inhumanly strong demon inside or… Considering Bloodlings are born from corpses, how strong would a blooding from an Elder Dragon’s corpse be?”

nBishop Lazark and Sir Dolorem also glanced at the spot in silence. Their hearts beat fast and loud, their breath heavy from the extreme heat. They imagined what monstrosity was awaiting inside them.

nClap!

nSylvester patted his clothes clean off the desert dust and headed out. “Let’s inform this to the Holy Land in a report after reaching the Viscount’s castle. Let’s move now.”

nSylvester made quick strides as he still could not shake off the feeling. Even then, he felt as if two giant eyes were watching him, taunting him to come and try fighting.

n‘I should tell the Pope to put a secondary seal over it… I don’t know if even the Pope can beat this thing.’

nSylvester didn’t dare speak those words aloud, as no one could imagine someone stronger than the Holy Father, the famed strongest Pope.

nThe rest of the journey was spent in silence. None of them were in the mood to discuss about the Wild Forge, but that was all they could think of. Though thankfully, the heat became bearable as they went farther from Burning Mountain.

nOnce they crossed the border and entered the mountains of Mineworth Viscounty in the Highland Kingdom, the climate became even milder as the heat was blocked through the shorter mountains.

nAs Sylvester and his companions approached Mineworth, the mining town surrounding the Viscount’s castle, they observed a curious absence of men during the daylight hours. The women of the town busied themselves with domestic chores or small shops, while the men presumably worked in the nearby mines. Despite this, the town exuded a certain charm and vitality, with most buildings standing three stories tall and constructed of mud bricks painted in complementary shades and adorned with decorations.

nSoon, their journey brought them to the Viscount’s castle, a medium-sized fortress complete with four imposing guard towers and pointed, red-roofed turrets. A moat encircled the stronghold, fed by a nearby river.

nThe guards at the entrance were all clad in sandy gray armor with no helmets. Nevertheless, they were polite, as any man entering the castle was, in most cases, a prospective customer.

nSylvester showed the seal of King Highland, which allowed him to travel anywhere inside the Highland Kingdom. He further bolstered his credentials by displaying his mitre and a golden coin, symbols of his position as an Archbishop. Finally, to dispel any lingering doubts, Sylvester sang a few lines of a hymn, leaving no doubt about his identity and intentions.

nThud!

nIn no time, the soldiers knelt on their knees with their arms on their chests, saluting in church style. “We are blessed, your holy grace.”

nWithout delay, the gates were opened, the drawbridge lowered, and Sylvester and his entourage were escorted with utmost reverence to the castle of the Viscount. Then the Prima, with an air of importance, directed them to the Viscount’s chambers, for the ailing nobleman could not receive guests elsewhere.

n‘Finally!’ Sylvester couldn’t help but feel excited. ‘After more than a decade.’

n“This way, please.” Prima led them to the bedside of the Viscount.

nThe Viscount lay in his bed, visibly frail and weak, but still dignified. Sylvester saw the old man’s arm tremble as he attempted to raise it in greeting. “W-welcome,” the Viscount stuttered, struggling to form his words. “Y-your grace…forgive m-me for m—”

nBAM!

nThe sudden sound of a loud bang interrupted Viscount’s words, and the chamber’s doors flung open with force. Sylvester, ever alert, rushed to the Viscount’s side, ready to defend him from any potential threat.

nTwo middle-aged, chubby men strode in. Their faces contorted with rage and eyes full of fury.

nTheir eyes fell upon Sylvester, and they both shouted in unison. “Who is this kid?”

n“Get back!” Sylvester retreated as one of them charged, wishing to push him.

nThe man then stopped beside his bedridden father, pointing a trembling finger at him.

n“Father, did you adopt him now? Just because you don’t want us to inherit you?”

n“…”

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nThank you!

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