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nIn sorrow and silence, the people of the Holy Land resumed their tasks. The Pope, grieving over the loss of Sylvester and Lord Inquisitor, proceeded to confront the Beastkins, who had recently arrived at the port of the Holy Land.

nHad the Beastkins not flown the banner of the church, they would have been obliterated by the cannons prior to their arrival at the port. Despite the Holy Land being accessible to all those who embraced Solis, they were unwilling to take any chances with sabotage attempts from Beastaria.

nFollowing the arrival of the assorted ships, a few elderly beastkin disembarked. As previously indicated, they belonged to the Bear, Panda, Fox, Cow, and Cat tribes. They lacked any warriors or weapons and instead donned attire resembling that of the Holy Land’s acolytes.

nThey were hastily taken to the Administration building, rather than the Pope’s Palace, where they were secured and guarded in a room to await the Pope’s arrival to discuss any matters at hand.

nThe Beastkins were evidently anxious upon seeing the high level of security, yet they remained patient. In due course, the Pope entered the guarded chambers. The Beastkins sat on one side of the table while the Pope sat on the other.

n“We pay our respects to the Holy Father,” the five Beastkins lowered their heads with reverence.

nThe Pope glanced at their different faces. Some resembled humans, while others were entirely bestial. “What can I do for the sons of Solis from across the sea?” he inquired.

nThe Bear Beastkin spoke. “Your Holiness, I am Kobo Gozira, the head of the faith leaders in the Beastkin region. Your Holiness, we have come here to see my patron, the great Sylvester Maximilian.”

nA

/N: Kobo Gozira first appeared in Chapter 75.

n“Bard?” The Pope fumbled with his words. “How do you know him?”

nKobo Gozira responded with reverence in his voice. “Three years ago, my wife, children, and I were abducted by a group of Half-Goblins. We were shackled, caged, and brought here to be sold to a human noble. Concurrently, those Goblins were also abducting Bright Mothers.

n“Back then, it was Lord Bard who saved us. Even when the Inquisitors sought to slay me and my family, Lord Bards halted them and recited his holy sermon before setting us free. He asked for nothing in return and graced us with his presence. I accepted the light of Solis after that and spread the word. Over time, more of us united.

n“Today, we gather once again to behold Lord Bard’s sermon with all our eyes and invite him to our clan grounds. So the other tribes may witness the truth in Lord Bard’s light and voice,” the speaker announced in a formal tone.

nThe Pope cast a glance at Saint Wazir, who stood behind him, and let out a sigh. “I am… pleased to learn that you have accepted the way of Solis. However, I regret to inform you of grave news. Lord Bard, Sylvester Maximilian, returned to Solis’ embrace two nights ago while battling the Cannibals.” 𝓫𝒹ℴ𝓿𝓵.𝓬ℴ𝓶

n“What!” The Beastkins reacted together.

nKobo Gozira could not believe it. “But…He vanquished two Grand Wizards! Even in Libertia, his legend has become renowned. How can this be? Are you sure, Your Holiness?”

nThe Pope nodded solemnly. “Regrettably, that is the case. I cannot aid you further. Please take respite in the guest house as the realm mourns the loss of its greatest son. Saint Wazir, please escort them.”

nWith low-hanging heads, the five delegates from Beastaria left the chamber, leaving the Pope alone to his thoughts. But, sadly, alone time was also when most regrets come to haunt one deeply.

nThe Pope’s eyes shimmered with faint tears as he walked to the window and gazed at the distant sea and the sunset.

n“I failed you, son…What have I done…What have I done.”

n…

n“Xavia, you must eat something,” Aurora coaxed, attempting to calm Xavia down after bringing her to Bright Mother’s quarters to rest. However, Xavia refused to sleep or eat and hadn’t uttered a single word since the news was disclosed.

nOther Bright Mothers also offered assistance, but Xavia remained unresponsive. Even Great Mother Grace had given up. They understood Xavia’s grief, as they felt saddened, speechless, and hopeless when Sylvester wasn’t even related to them by blood. Therefore, they could only imagine how devastating it must be for Xavia, who was Sylvester’s biological mother.

nKnock! Knock!

nSir Dolorem entered the house. His eyes were dark and bloodshot beyond humanly possible, and his armor appeared unkempt, his expressions hollow. The man walked with a slumped posture to sit beside Xavia.

n“I should have accompanied him, Mother Xavia,” he apologized. “I failed you…I failed Sylvester…Once again, I failed to keep my vows.”

nHaving vowed to fight alongside Sylvester until he sat on the high throne, ready to die for that goal—he felt like a failure. Sylvester was not supposed to die; he was.

nXavia remained seated on the bed, motionless like a lifeless doll. Her eyes blankly stared at the wall while silent tears trickled down her cheeks from time to time.

n“Sir Dolorem, please compose yourself,” Aurora ordered, her own voice breaking. “We need to be the shoulder Xavia can rely on. Sylvester…His body was never found! I refuse to believe he is dead.”

nYes, even Aurora refused to accept reality, even after the Pope confirmed it. She had been with Sylvester for months on end and knew he was the most intelligent man she had ever met. To her, there was no way that he would die so unremarkably.

nSir Dolorem nodded and placed his hand on Xavia’s shoulder. “Mother Xavia, Lady Aurora speaks the truth. He is not a man so feeble as to die from such an attack.”

nNo matter what the truth was. In that moment of sorrow, one could only try to look away from reality.

n…

nThe sun disappeared behind the horizon as usual and then rose again. Time never stops for anyone, regardless of wealth, poverty, weakness, or power. The world learned of the devastating news, and a few mourned for days. Eventually, the world had to return to business.

nWhile mourning was still quietly observed in the Holy Land, most of the kingdoms returned to normal. A few even rejoiced, finding solace in Sylvester’s passing. Finally, the Council of Thirty-Two no longer had to worry about the upstart Cardinal rising from nowhere and sweeping away all their power.

nNobles who were once afraid of committing folly before now regained their courage. The many Article Sixty-Six that Sylvester had executed became a thing of the past. With the war drawing close, it was the last chance to make significant profits.

nHowever, beyond where eyes could see and people could reach, inside The Divine Desert, there was a certain encampment. It was the gathering place of the cannibal tribes, from where they launched invasions.

nIt was a time of celebration for the tribes, as their massive campaign was a success. Successfully, they weakened the Sandwall to a degree that no one in history had. But, nevertheless, above all else, there was the greatest prize.

nNight had fallen, and the harsh cold was only lessened by the giant bonfire in the center of the encampment. The cannibals danced around it, prayed to it, and ate beside it. The leaders of the tribes sat together to discuss and drink blood.

nNot too far from them, a thick wooden mast was anchored into the ground. Tied to it was the body of a hairless man, with not a single article of clothing on him. His body was thin and pale, as if he was already dead.

n“Haha, eat! Eat preacher. You are our blessing!”

nFood was forcibly stuffed into Sylvester’s mouth as he weakly awakened from his deadly slumber. His eyes faintly opened, revealing hazy golden irises. Confusion was evident in the situation as he gazed at the grotesque face of the cannibal before him.

n“Eat!”

n“Where am I?” Sylvester wondered. “Am I not dead?”

nJust as his mind cleared, he felt a sharp pain in both his arms. He quickly glanced and noticed they were tightly bound on two sticks, with his wrists facing downward and his arms remaining straight. Thin, sharp metal pipes were inserted into both his wrists, and his blood was slowly dripping into two containers.

n“What are they doing?” He gasped internally, troubled even to keep his eyes open and breathe. “Why am I not dead?”

n“Eat!”

nAgain, the cannibal shoved food into his mouth while mumbling something.

nHe looked around and saw only desert sand on the ground. “Is this the Divine Desert? Why did they bring me here?”

n“Eat!”

nHe ate the foot, knowing that he needed the energy to plan an escape. He had no idea why the cannibals had kept him alive, but he intended to use the opportunity to the best of his ability.

n‘I presume this is not too far into the Divine Desert.’ He began to hatch a plan for himself.

n“Hah! Look at the famed preacher!”

nSuddenly, a few cannibals approached him, eyeing him like a specimen. They laughed at his misery and enviously gazed at the jars filled with his blood, which accumulated with small drops over time.

n“Does he not realize it yet?”

nSylvester stayed silent, not wanting to attract attention. He listened to them talking, hoping to gather some intel about his location.

n“I don’t think so. The fool is eating his own leg, and he does not even know.”

n‘What?!’

nSylvester gasped and looked below, forcing the last of his strength to move his head.

n“No, no, no…”

nHe could not see his left leg. In its place was just a tied piece of cloth to close the wound.

n“Haha, now he knows.”

nSylvester frantically tried to free himself, wriggling with the ropes and contraption around his arms. But to no avail. His body was too weak. The more he struggled, the more blood he lost from his wrists.

n‘W-Why…am…I…not dead?’

nWas all he could think. At least it would have been better than his current fate.

n“J-Just…kill me.”

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