Chapter 750 - Are We at War?
Enkrid’s group headed south.
In the midst of this, Weird Eyes turned back.
It seemed he had truly just come out to see them off.
South—in other words, they were making their way toward the Demonic Domain, where Beelrog was likely to be found.
No one knew the exact whereabouts of the one called the Demon of Strife.
They were simply traveling, following rumors and tales.
Still, that didn’t mean there were no ways to track him down.
’Beelrog loves a good fight.’
It’s said he enjoys fighting strong opponents and collects souls.
So, why not invite him in with a serenade at a place he’s likely to visit?
Enkrid’s plan was to scatter black blood everywhere and belt out a serenade at the top of his lungs.
Surprisingly, both Krais and Abnaior nodded, saying it made sense.
Though the name Balrog is shrouded in legend, their research and investigation had uncovered factual patterns in his behavior, so they figured there was a real chance.
Call him out for a fight, and he should appear. The only catch was, the invitation would have to be loud enough.
The Border Guard Spirit’s Safe Road had become so much wider than before that they had to pass several outposts along the way.
"Steel Wall!"
A cheer accompanied the salute.
This was the last outpost marking the end of the Safe Road.
Enkrid gave a casual wave in response to their salute and passed by.
Among the soldiers watching their departure, the outpost commander, who seemed to have his wits about him, tilted his head in puzzlement.
"Are we at war or something?"
The senior soldier beside him shook his head.
"I haven’t heard anything like that."
Neither had the commander.
More importantly, there wasn’t even an enemy to fight.
Lately, Enkrid’s Madmen Knights had come to be known as the Labyrinth of the Border. If you wanted to know why they’d earned such a strange nickname—
’It’s because they pull everyone in and swallow them up.’
That was it. As for culling cultists, they never really sought them out.
The cultists were always the ones who came looking for trouble.
Those apostate groups worshipping the Gray God?
Same story with them.
It might have seemed a bit different with the Black Blade bandits or Count Molsan, who started a civil war—but regardless of the details, the fact remained: the Madmen Knights devoured them all.
"I heard there’s been trouble with the Trade City recently?"
The commander was always quick to catch a rumor.
He believed that knowing a lot was the key to surviving long and well.
Besides, there’s nothing quite as entertaining as a juicy rumor.
"Are they heading to burn down the Trade City?"
With that kind of force, even a Trade City with roots deep across the Continent couldn’t withstand them.
"But that’s not the direction they’re headed."
A junior soldier chimed in, equally baffled by how that group was moving together.
Could they really be going to war?
"Yeah, that can’t be it."
Even the southern front had quieted down lately.
He’d heard there had been far fewer provocations from that side.
There was a lot of talk about some upheaval at the royal palace lately—could it be because of that?
’Are they going to slaughter all the nobles?’
That gray-haired madman known as the Noble Butcher was among them, after all.
’No, that’s probably not it.’
His thoughts were running wild.
He didn’t know the real reason.
But even if they weren’t heading to war, just seeing that group move together would be enough to make plenty of people flinch.
The commander kept his eyes on those departing figures—especially the black-haired man at their center.
If you listened to the man in charge of Border Guard’s defence, Vengeance’s talk, he claimed that man used to be just a low-ranking soldier.
"Who could believe that?"
It was no wonder those words seemed totally unconvincing.
The watchtower was tall.
From such height, everything was clear.
Look at those people leaving far off in the distance.
The fading sunlight slid down their backs, stretching into long shadows behind them.
Those people now—they were a group powerful enough to shake the earth just by walking.
The commander’s predictions had been spot on.
Why are they suddenly marching out all together?
’Are they trying to put pressure on us?’
To warn us not to step out of line?
Up until now, they’d always found excuses to avoid any armed confrontation, but were these the kind of people such excuses would work on?
Could the city’s pride—the Ten Mercenaries—stop them?
At least talk to them?
Maybe keep the possibility of negotiation alive?
Of course, actually winning was out of the question.
But maybe they could at least show some spirit?
The Mercenary Captain happened to be present at the meeting.
The mayor looked at him intently.
Even without words, that look was enough to ask his opinion.
The Captain was a seasoned veteran with a long scar across his face, someone who had taken on every kind of job since his youth.
He’d once been captured by the enemy and tortured—had his fingernails and toenails ripped out—yet he didn’t break, earning the nickname "Indomitable Mercenary."
He never knew when to give up and was seen as a symbol of endurance, the kind who would hold out till the bitter end.
If you excluded the Eastern Mercenary King, he was considered the spiritual pillar all mercenaries admired.
"Surrender."
That was what he said.
"...What?"
"I said surrender. If we fight, we’ll all die."
He was resolute.
The mercenary—a symbol of unyielding resistance who didn’t break under torture and would jump into any hopeless battle—spoke with unshakable conviction.
Thud.
His hand hit the table.
It only seemed to lend more weight to his words.
"Surrender!"
He shouted.
That was the end of the meeting.
So much for unity.
The Madmen Knights hadn’t even shown up yet, but those sly merchant groups looking to meddle with the path known as the Stone Road and make a quick profit—well, they were the first to raise the white flag.
Such was the terrifying reputation of the Madmen.
Krais, who had been handling various matters with the Border Guard, wondered to himself why the Trade City, usually so cagey, was suddenly offering their cooperation and even setting up a bank in Border Guard territory.
It didn’t take him long to put two and two together.
’Just one move from the Commander and everyone’s in a panic.’
Leona Rockfreed was pleased.
She’d had enough of the Trade City’s recent shady tricks, so she was more than satisfied to have the issue resolved so easily.
And this was just the beginning.
"We asked whether you had the right!"
The title of Pope is, by tradition, bestowed in the Holy City of Legion.
That’s the rule and the custom.
The basic requirement for becoming Pope is the blessing of every High Priest gathered in Legion.
It’s not decided by a vote; it only ends when there’s unanimous agreement.
Which meant it could take years for everyone to come to a consensus.
The previous Pope had vanished without a trace, leaving Legion deeply scarred.
Recently, heretics worshiping the Gray God had even appeared.
It was a time of confusion and turmoil.
In light of this, the Legion was in desperate need of extraordinary measures
The first suggestion that came up was this:
"We must appoint a new Pope."
That was it.
At first, there was even talk of bringing someone from the Empire who had awakened divine power.
The Religious Order still held significant influence in the Empire.
While the Empire itself was not a theocracy, that didn’t mean the Order’s power was insignificant.
Since divinity truly existed, anyone who could prove that power could easily claim a portion of authority.
"I can’t think of a better way than this."
Holy Knight Overdier was sure that whoever said that was an agent of the Empire, but compared to betraying the faith or falling into cults, it wasn’t a crime deserving death.
Just siding with the Empire didn’t mean someone should have their head bashed in.
"If one of the High Priests steps up, we might not have a result even after a hundred years."
Even if he was an agent, the one who said this was still someone who lived for the Legion and served God.
Most of those who worshiped the Gray God or who had half-lost their minds had already been "sent" to God’s side.
The person suspected of being an Empire agent had at least accurately assessed the current situation.
The title of High Priest was created so that they would keep each other in check.
Though the Legion called them High Priests, each of them was actually the Pope of their own order.
So, for one among them to become Pope—
’They’d have to show something truly extraordinary.’
They would need to display such divinity that even a Saint would seem like a mere child in comparison.
While not a Pope, one of the Apostles did possess that kind of capability, but he served the God of War and currently wasn’t under Legion’s jurisdiction.
Even if he had been there, it would have been meaningless.
Those who served the God of War had sworn an oath to the Lord not to get involved in the Legion’s internal strife, so they weren’t present here anyway.
Had it not been for that, their strength would have been a significant help.
Overdier didn’t try to unravel this tangled situation.
He had no intention of fixing it.
It wasn’t his responsibility, and he didn’t have the ability to do so either.
He was the sword and shield of the Religious Order, not its tongue or its prophet.
That didn’t mean he had nothing to say, though.
At the very least, nominating a candidate for Pope was well within his rights.
In fact, he had been preparing for just that.
"If the Goddess of Fortune gazes down upon the world with favor, then the Goddess of the Scales always watches over it by maintaining balance."
When Overdier spoke, his words carried weight.
No one ignored him.
That was true even for the High Priests.
He already had a record of dealing with a traitor of High Priest rank not long ago.
Some of the Legion’s influential figures cast uneasy glances at him.
If Overdier so wished, the full authority of the Religious Order could easily end up in the palm of his hand.
They were celebrated for cleansing the Order’s corrupt parts and commanded considerable force.
Of course, the Apostles of the God of War only watched from the sidelines, so realistically, a military takeover of the Legion by Overdier was impossible.
"The God of the Scales may appear indifferent, but is always just."
While each Religious Order served its own Pope, the Pope of Legion was in a class of their own.
Put simply, the Pope of Legion was recognized by all other Popes, making them the leader of the Holy City.
To phrase it even more bluntly, you could say the Pope of the Legion was like a king.
"The Scales have tipped restlessly toward me. On behalf of all Holy Knights, I nominate a candidate for Pope."
Overdier nodded and added to his statement.
He introduced Noah as his candidate, and at that, one of the Cardinals under the High Priests began to challenge the decision, questioning Noah’s qualifications.
"Can someone who cannot even wield holy power truly be suited for the position of Pope?"
As the Cardinal pressed on, Overdier first affirmed his own oath of loyalty and then presented a prepared endorsement.
"He has the support of the Ragged Saint."
At this, Audin’s foster father—who had been with the Border Guard—spoke up.
Tapping his cane on the floor, the old man, feigning blindness, bowed his head to Noah.
"The Lord in heaven will decide, but if my opinion proves to be of any value, I would like it to be known."
He was once the Pope of Legion.
Of course, only a handful here knew that, and those who did had no intention of bringing it up.
Still, his reputation was not something to be discounted.
Of course, Audin’s foster father was present simply as the Ragged Saint, so the weight of his words was limited.
Noah said nothing.
It would be difficult to persuade them with just a speech, but it was worth a try.
The real question was, even if he did manage to persuade them, would they ever come together to support him as one? Moreover, Noah still had doubts within himself.
’Am I truly qualified for this?’
It all began from a simple desire to care for a child who had lost their parents.
Rather than seeing that child grow up to become a pickpocket or a thief, he wanted them to serve God, to spend their days copying the Holy Scripture.
His hopes were small, his wishes even smaller.
But, was it really right for him to take on such a heavy responsibility?
"Only those two? I recognize the prestige of the Holy Knights Order, but is there anyone else willing to support him?"
One of the High Priests shouted sharply.
Overdier felt troubled.
Yes, he had expected things might go this way.
"The King of Naurilia stands in support."
At that moment, an official letter of support from the King of Naurilia arrived, but even so, it still felt lacking.
But to where?
For what purpose were they moving?
And then the real problem arose.
Upon checking their movements, it turned out they were headed toward the Legion.
Even though the High Priest asked this during the meeting, Noah couldn’t answer.
He was still reeling from the unexpected news about Enkrid.
To be precise, it was more like a sudden realization had struck him.
Enkrid had never actually said such words to him, and yet, it felt as if he’d just been scolded by him.
Noah’s dazed eyes made it look as if he’d just been reprimanded.
In his mind’s eye, Enkrid patiently spoke to him.
"What idiotic nonsense are you spouting? Your ambition is too small? Your wish is too modest? Then let’s hear what you think is grander."
It was hard to answer.
Enkrid continued.
"There’s no such thing as a humble dream, Noah."
Dreams aren’t measured in size.
He’d forgotten that for a moment.
"Are you connected or not?"
The High Priest’s question snapped Noah back into focus. It was time to answer in reality.
"We’re friends."
At those words, one of the High Priests gulped.
Especially now.
They’d caused so much trouble over the years.
"Are they planning to go to war with the Legion or something?", muttered the Ragged Saint.
He knew that would never actually happen, but it was more than enough to frighten those present.
"Why?", asked one of the Cardinals.
Overdier added fuel to the fire.
"The Apostle of the Gray God targeted them. If we’re talking about who’s at fault, it’s us. I figured I’d better be prepared to receive him myself."
The situation was tense.
But the Legion had no clear leader to send forward.
Someone would have to step up to meet him.
Who was the right person for the job?
His eyes fell on the man named Noah, the one Overdier had recommended.
The King of Naurilia himself—renowned on the Continent—had stepped forward as his patron.
Even the Ragged Saint, whose name commanded more respect than any other Saint or Saintess in the Legion, sided with him.
Even if the Madmen Knights had stayed quiet, the Legion’s Pope seat would have ended up with Noah in the end.
"Give it to me. That position."
For the first time, the man named Noah—who had been standing idly by—clearly expressed his intent.
And so, the Pope of the Legion was chosen.
Around this time, Enkrid was gleefully chatting about swordsmanship with the Madmen Knights as he battled beasts and monsters.

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