Chapter 342 342. Sylvester & The Legend Of His Rotten Luck

"Undeads? What kind of undead?" Sylvester asked and nearly cursed himself for not bringing Bishop Lazark along.

"All sorts of the undead. Skeletons, zombies, humanoids, and animals. There are also some creatures of darkness in the ranks. They swarm the entire northern coast beyond the mountain range. I tried to take back the lands once, but they kept spawning more and more. Eventually, they return to their previous numbers when I stop to rest." Chief Koruk revealed, appearing in mental anguish as he clenched his fist.

"When did this start?" Sylvester questioned.

Chief Koruk started telling them, while his eyes seemed rattled as if he saw everything right there. "Five years ago, when the winter started intensifying. Initially, we thought it was due to some bloodling or a creature of the night. But we found nothing while searching. So I, along with the two elders of the Borzol faction, looked around the entire northern coast. Eventually, we had to give up our farmlands as they became polluted with darkness. Nothing grew there, and soon undead came. We have good clothes and only survive on hunting now. But soon, we might end up eradicating all animals from the mountains."

'There are only a few creatures that can spawn undead, and I hope I'm wrong about this.' Sylvester tried to keep himself positive, although he knew that his rotten luck always brought him the worst of the possibilities.

"So that's why you wish to go south? You have no food?" Sylvester asked, trying to learn what other weaknesses they had that he could exploit.

"Yes, we have no food anymore. We can't survive with just meat for too long. The land south of here is fertile, and the part beside the mountains is also uncultivated. You southerners don't know how to cultivate the harsh cold land, but we do. So we will live there."

Saying that, Chief Koruk stood up and went to a large chest at the side of the room. He opened it, revealing countless crude coins and bricks of gold, diamonds, and much more. "I wish to offer this to the Duke of Normani in return for permission to live on his lands. But, of course, we shall abide by all his land's laws and rules too. All we need is a place to survive."

"That's impossible." Sylvester poured water on the man's dreams. "You think money can solve anything? Then you are mistaken about the south. In the short term, sure, the Duke might allow you. But, once the money runs out, you will be dispensable. Don't forget what your cousins in the east are doing. They are laying siege to a Duchy! A Duchy sworn to King Gracia, who is sworn to the faith of Solis.

"You will never be seen as a normal person. You will always be barbarians in people's eyes. Not to mention, currently, the Northern Duchies of Gracia are reeling from a manufactured economic collapse orchestrated by the Masan Empire. Do you think they have the means to support you?"

Chief Koruk looked down in some defeat. Whatever Sylvester said was true, and he knew it.

Sylvester didn't stop, however. "I can, of course, help you. I believe in give and take. Please tell me about the strength of the Borzol faction first so I may propose a plan that can benefit all of us."

Chief Koruk looked up at Sylvester's face. He saw no ridicule or scheming. He wondered if Sylvester was just naive or too good at his trade.

Then he looked outside at the city in the fortress. The snow-covered rooftops of the tiny houses reminded him daily of all the lives he was responsible for.

"They are stronger than us despite being lower in number. This is because they focus more on warrior tendencies than farming and peace. Borzol faction has two leaders who are brothers, and they rule like kings. In your southern ranking terms, one is as strong as me, a Diamond Knight, and his name is Fralan Borzol. Meanwhile, his elder brother is the most dangerous, a Platinum Knight, Zelfim Borzol."

Boom!

Sylvester stood up abruptly and asked again just to be sure. "Did you say Platinum Knight? Are you sure? That's a rank on the same level as the Supreme Wizard!"

Chief Koruk stared into Sylvester's eyes, his own being similarly devoid of vigour. "There was no mistake, preacher. Chief Zelfim is a Platinum knight, the first in all of our history."

"What's his level?" Sir Dolorem questioned. After all, a Platinum knight in his initial levels can still be beaten by a high-ranking Grand Wizard, as Wizards are inherently stronger.

"That I don't know, knight. We don't meet, nor do we like each other. His faction is vile and goes against all we stand for. We left the south to escape the tyrant Pope, not to be ruled by violent tyrants here again."

Sylvester used all the curses he knew in his mind. The situation turned from hard to impossible. He could have hoped to tackle a Diamond Knight, but a Platinum Knight was a god on earth, much weaker than a Supreme Wizard like the Pope, but still, a Platinum Knight could easily conquer a duchy or two.

"What's their army strength?" Sylvester inquired.

"Not a lot, as their population is smaller than us. At most, the Borzol faction has thirty thousand soldiers. But, that one platinum knight equals a hundred thousand men alone."

Sylvester rubbed his chin and wondered how to go about it. He had Aurora, and she was a level two Grand Wizard, which was not enough if the Platinum Knight was level five or above. So that only left him the other man the Pope had asked him to contact. 'If the Sixth Guardian, Winter Ghost, can join us, then we can definitely kill Chief Zelfim. But, even then, I will need meatshields, so the Duchy does not suffer too much.'

He looked up at Chief Koruk's face. The man was at his wits. He could see it no matter how much the man tried to act strong. The scent of emotions never lied, after all.

'I do want to help these people, or whoever survives. But I can not allow them to occupy land while being heathens. That would only start a religious war, and that's bad for stability.'

"Elder Chief, I will say it once. I can defeat the Borzol faction if you agree to help me do it. In return, once we win, I will personally see to it that you are granted winter lands in the Duchy of Iceling and Duchy of Normani—But there is only one condition." Sylvester paused for a second to ensure the man had all his focus.

"You must start praying to Solis as the supreme god and show your devotion to all the southern people and the church."

Thud!

"How dare you! Get out!" Chief Koruk stood up, grasped Sylvester by his collar, and lifted him up easily. "You want us to forgo our five mothers who protected us for centuries? For a god whose supreme preacher pushed us away?"

Sylvester didn't react much. "You can still pray to your five mothers, but only if Solis is accepted as the supreme lord! Only if you pray in the church monasteries—It's either this or hunger. No matter what, you must accept Solis in the supreme position or be prepared for the song of the Holy Inquisition.

"I shall remain in your fort for one whole day. You have time to think about my proposal and about the well-being of your people. Food, wealth, and work await you, but are you willing to do what's necessary for it?" Sylvester pushed the Chief away and walked out. "May the Holy Light enlighten us."

Following Sylvester, Sir Dolorem proudly exited the fort. Baron Strongarm remained behind, however, as Sylvester had asked him to speak with the Chief and help him make up his mind.

Outside, Sir Dolorem inquired what he wished to do next. "You can't fight a Platinum Knight alone, Lord Bard."

"I know, Sir Dolorem. I will be sending the word to the church once we return. But for now, we must gather some allies, for this battle won't just be about the powerhouses. Perhaps you can help; come with me as I explain my plan."

So Sylvester brought the blind inquisitor to the fortress city's central community square, where many small marketplaces were set up for selling meat and clothes. Most of the people were doing nothing, and the kids were playing around.

Sir Dolorem sensed the crowd and nodded. "The preaching might work here. But are you sure you can do the miracle? Has the guardian angel agreed?"

Sylvester glanced at Miraj sitting on his shoulder, who showed a big feral smile and a thumbs up with his cute paw.

"I think he's ready. Let's do this, Sir Dolorem." Sylvester proceeded to arrive at the centre of the community ground.

There, he quickly used elemental earth magic to make a small block rise so he could sit on it. Then, he straightened his back, raised one palm to face the people, and started singing a hymn.

♫Born from the light of the sun.

Divided by land, but we're one.

Your hardships are seen by this Solis' son.

It's time to have the hunger undone.♫

"What?!" Sir Dolorem exclaimed. "You know their language."

Shocking not just Sir Dolorem but also the people. Sylvester spoke in the language of the barbarians fluently. After all, he was a spy, and he'd be dumb not to try and learn the language of mountain barbarians and desert cannibals.

As the halo of light appeared behind Sylvester's head, his right hand also started spewing bright light magic, warming anyone who came in contact with it. But not just that, he also lifted his left hand so that his palm faced the ground.

♫For so long, you have been brave.

With the new wind, greet the new wave.

No more shall you be hunger's slave.

Path to brighter days, this bard shall pave.♫

Miraj, who sat on Sylvester's left hand and faced the ground, started vomiting the items out.

Thud!

Soon enough, a big bag of rice and grains fell, and Sir Dolorem handed it to the nearest barbarian woman. With it, Sir Dolorem also took the name of Solis. "Bard of Solis has blessed you, respected sister."

♫Ask not—Take what is necessary.

Rich, poor or folks ordinary.

Come forward—no need to be wary.

This is a blessing by God's emissary.♫

Sylvester made it appear like he was bringing bags of grains and clothes out of thin air. One after another, he created more. In no time, each bag would get taken. At the start, Sir Dolorem had to pick it up and give it. But soon enough, people started moving on their own.

They'd come in front of Sylvester, feel the warmth of his light, clasp their hands together to pray to the sitting, close-eyed apostle of Solis, and take the food as a blessing.

Sylvester did not move, nor did the diligent furry boy. Until midnight, Sylvester's light remained shining as he chanted old and new hymns.

The blessings in the form of food and clothes made many wonder and ask, 'Are southerners really bad people?'

But they didn't know the fox that had taken home in their fortress. Sylvester knew how to defeat them. After all, why conquer bodies when one can conquer minds?

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