Chapter 7
Chapter 7
“It should be fishy.”
Or perhaps, repulsive. Benedict gazed down at the unconscious woman as if observing a peculiar specimen. Then, he abruptly realized his headache had vanished without a trace. “…Strange.”
Was it his imagination? His headaches usually arrived and departed unannounced, but this time felt different. His mind was unusually clear and refreshed. He briefly pondered this anomaly before straightening up, alerted by a faint noise from outside the window.
“Commander.” A soldier soon entered, reporting that the situation was resolved. The mansion, briefly filled with commotion, was now deathly silent.
“What shall we do with this woman?” the soldier asked Benedict urgently, visibly surprised to find a survivor. His orders had been clear: no one in the mansion was to be left alive. Benedict, already halfway out the door, glanced back and curtly replied, “Take her prisoner.”
***
The Holy Kingdom of Crozeta was once a prosperous land. Legends spoke of a time when people wielding a special power called Divine Grace walked its soil. They enriched the land, repelled invaders, and healed the sick.
“What good is it,” Benedict muttered, listlessly swinging his sword, “if it’s nowhere to be found?”
The birth of those with Divine Grace had dwindled over time. First, the power vanished from the Crozetan royal and noble families. Though devout commoners sometimes manifested Divine Grace and became priests, even that had ceased for over a century. Crozeta was no longer worthy of its holy title. Moreover, the corruption of the royals and nobles had hastened its decline.
“So, they should be grateful,” he continued, thinking of the Empire’s conquest, “and soon, for the annexation with Bertolph.”
Flames erupted throughout the royal palace. The clash of weapons, shouts, horrific screams, and the stench of blood filled the air. Benedict strolled through the death-ridden space. Several royal guards, emboldened by a desperate courage, lunged at him, only to fall before they could even reach him.
“Your Grace, we have captured the King.”
Moritz’s report stopped Benedict in his tracks. “But he seems to know nothing of ‘it’s’ whereabouts.”
Benedict lowered his gaze thoughtfully, then spoke. “I’ll interrogate him myself.” His golden eyes gleamed with a ruthless light. “Search the palace and the temple thoroughly. We must extract all the information before any unnecessary rumors reach the Emperor’s ears.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Benedict slowly turned his head, taking in the palace’s opulent chandeliers, the shimmering gold-leaf wallpaper, and the expensive ornaments adorning every corner. No wonder the greedy Emperor had his eyes set on this kingdom. It made his plan all the easier. A few rumors, exaggerations, and instigations had swayed the Emperor to contact him first and declare war, allowing him to easily set foot on Crozetan soil. To seize what he desired.
“Let the Emperor’s knights handle the spoils of war. They’ll be clamoring for these trinkets by now.”
“As you command.”
Benedict changed direction, seeking the one who could provide the information he sought, the one whose lips he would force open. The reason he had come to this kingdom. The objective of this war, the most valuable prize of all.
The Holy Sword.
***
The kingdom had fallen. The Holy Kingdom of Crozeta, boasting a thousand years of history, had crumbled and vanished. The nobles of the royal capital were assassinated, the royal family slaughtered. The severed head of the king was displayed before the palace gates.
The commander who led the war to victory became a hero of the Empire. Imperial citizens lined the streets, showering them with flowers and praise as they returned.
“Long live Duke Oaklien!”
“Long live the Commander!”
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