Chapter 399: Lemont’s Last Stand

Amid the treacherous, shadowed mountain range, Bishop Lemont sprinted at full speed.

He had torn off the hem of his robe, discarded the cumbersome bishop’s mitre that hindered his movement through the forest, and was using his ornate staff—the symbol of the Church’s authority—as a makeshift walking stick to steady himself on the rugged path. Never in his life had he been so disheveled and desperate. The crushing weight of defeat and humiliation burned within him, yet he dared not unleash his fury—because the oppressive, ever-growing chaotic magic still gripped his heart like a vice, suffocating him with hopelessness.

Only after plunging deep into the woods, far beyond the battlefield’s reach, did he dare to slow down and glance back at the path he had taken.

Though he could no longer see them, he knew the Church knights were dead—either slain by that unfathomably powerful energy creature or consumed by the blazing holy light. Bishop Lemont felt no guilt for sacrificing his comrades to escape; he believed everything he had done was for a greater justice. The knights’ purpose was to lay down their lives for the Lord, while a regional bishop ensured the Church’s strength endured and grew. Using the former to protect the latter was simply the natural order.

After gasping for breath, Lemont finally steadied himself and looked around at the dark mountain trail, surrounded by gnarled, lifeless trees. Confusion suddenly clouded his face.

Why was he running? Why was he so afraid? Why had he behaved so disgracefully?

The bishop’s mind churned with doubt, and amid the turmoil, he realized something was terribly wrong with his mental state.

He was, after all, a man who valued his life. Among all the regional bishops of the Holy Light Church, he was considered less capable and weaker in personal strength, but still—a bishop. Even in the direst circumstances, forced to retreat, he should never have fled like a hunted dog, gripped by paralyzing fear.

Clenching his staff tightly, sweat beading on his forehead, Lemont understood that his thoughts had been tampered with—something had invaded his mind, something no holy light barrier could repel. It had amplified his weaknesses, clouded his judgment on the battlefield, and led to today’s crushing defeat.

Otherwise, with his strength, even if he couldn’t confront the terrifying energy creature atop the city walls, he could have at least covered some knights’ retreat. He shouldn’t have been so utterly broken and humiliated.

“Come out!” Lemont shouted suddenly, a cascade of holy light enveloping him, bolstering his resistance to magical effects. Yet even so, he felt no safety—only a desperate need to assert himself through loud cries, though he knew this erratic behavior was proof of the mental interference. “Come out of my mind! I know you’re there! Show yourself!”

He repeated this several times, but only his own voice echoed through the mountain pass. Doubt crept in, but just as he was about to give up, a woman’s figure appeared before him.

She wore a white robe trimmed in purple and carried a lantern. Her attire marked her as a priestess—likely a high-ranking one—but the style was unlike any orthodox religion currently on the continent. After pondering with his religious knowledge, Lemont faintly recognized the design as that of the Sleeper’s Church from seven centuries ago.

The priestess smiled gently, a maternal warmth in her expression that disarmed defenses. Despite his utmost caution, Lemont almost relaxed at that smile—until he bit his tongue sharply, using the pain to regain control of his thoughts.

He knew this woman wasn’t truly there. Around the vivid figure’s edges shimmered a dreamlike, unstable haze. It was an illusion, projected into his mind and visible only to him.

To any onlooker, he would appear to be staring warily at empty space.

“Who are you?” Lemont gripped his staff, forcing calm onto his face, though he knew he had no control. Anyone capable of implanting such a clear illusion was a power beyond his defense—almost as unstoppable as the raging energy creature on Cecil’s walls. He didn’t expect an answer—

But the woman spoke, her voice as soft and serene as her face: “Bishop Lemont, I’m glad to see you’re still alive.”

“Who are you?” Lemont repeated, “What do you want?”

“I am Selina Gelph, High Priestess of the Sleeper’s Church. I hope I haven’t frightened you,” the woman smiled.

“The Sleeper’s Church?!” Lemont’s shock turned to fury. “You heretics—what do you want!?”

“Opportunities to ‘capture’ a high-ranking cleric are rare,” Selina Gelph answered patiently, though her words were far from comforting. “We spent a long time planting seeds within the bishops of the Holy Light Church, but your performance disappointed us. You foolishly challenged the Outer Wanderer and the power it commands. We had to act early, ‘rescuing’ you before you lost all value…”

“Planting seeds…” Lemont’s anger boiled over as realization dawned. “You’ve been tampering with my mind all along?! What exactly are you after?!”

“Many plans once existed, but now your worth is nearly spent. We must make full use of you,” Selina Gelph sighed softly, stepping closer to the terrified bishop. “Bishop, may we borrow your mind for a moment? We need to observe how your god has changed over these seven centuries.”

…

The explosions from the southern city finally ceased, marking the end of the day’s fighting.

Gawain glanced at the Pathfinder’s Sword resting quietly by the table. It had remained unused throughout the day’s battles.

The enemy’s strength had been far weaker than he expected, so he never needed to intervene.

Hetty entered the room, “Ancestor, the invaders at the southern city wall have been wiped out. All but one were killed. Aside from a temporary power outage in two southern districts, we suffered no casualties.”

“Good. Looks like Kamail will get the experimental data he wanted,” Gawain nodded, though he already knew the battlefield’s outcome. “With this, the war’s course is basically set.”

“I still can’t believe… we actually won like this…” Hetty’s face showed disbelief. She had received reports from the northern and western fronts. This war, which should have been massive and grueling, was decided so quickly—far beyond her expectations. Even though Gawain had expressed full confidence in victory, she had thought it was just to reassure everyone. Now she had a question, “Ancestor, how did you know the Church knights would attack from the southern wall?”

Of course, it was from the magical satellite imaging—but that couldn’t be said outright.

Gawain stroked his chin, wearing a look that said he had everything under control. “Eliminating the north and west, if anyone wanted to strike us, their only options were the eastern mining route or the southern dark mountains. The mines were a poor choice—if they attacked there and failed to seize the entire mining town quickly, Cecil’s main city would be alerted, losing the element of surprise. So they had to choose the dark mountains.”

He paused, then continued, “The dark mountains are close to the southern wall and offer complex terrain for concealment. Even with patrols, high-level supernaturals could sneak close to the wall. More importantly, Count Hosman’s main army attacked from the north. A pincer strike from the other side was the logical plan.”

Hetty was convinced by Gawain’s analysis and had no further doubts, though she voiced a worry, “Ancestor, I’m concerned about the one enemy who escaped. If the intelligence is correct, it’s likely the regional bishop of the Holy Light Church’s southern district. Though their influence there is weak, they still hold power. Their bishop leading Church knights to attack Cecil in the name of purging evil is no longer just aiding the noble war—it’s an outright declaration of war. Now that bishop has fled… I wonder what trouble he might cause.”

Gawain raised an eyebrow, amused as he looked at Hetty. “If this were the old you, your first worry would be the consequences of a direct war with the southern district of the Holy Light Church. But now, your focus seems to have shifted.”

Hetty realized the change herself and gave a wry smile. “I don’t know how it happened. By the time I noticed, we were already at war with all the southern nobles… Why should I still worry about the southern district?”

Gawain shook his head with a smile. “No need to worry. Before the fighting began, I sent Solderin and an elite squad to stand by in the dark mountains. They should be—”

Before he finished, Solderin’s voice came from outside the door: “The bishop is dead—we found his body.”

(End of chapter)