Chapter 20

“Hey, hey! Harald! What do you think of this scene I’m seeing with my own two eyes right now?” 

At Kendrick’s shout, a tall, rugged man with dark brown hair, who had just been called Harald, spurred his warhorse forward to ride alongside Kendrick. 

“Boss, between the sound of the hooves and the cheering, I can’t even think straight, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Harald had been Kendrick’s companion since the day he ran away from home. He was a sharp and ruthless man who handled tasks with cold precision. 

For the past seven years, Harald had served as Kendrick’s right-hand man, helping him commit every unspeakable act imaginable—plundering nations, loan sharking, managing pleasure palaces—all in the name of their trade. 

But even Harald, who had seen it all, was dumbfounded by this kind of welcome. 

“More importantly, Boss! We’ve got trouble! Look ahead! W-w-what is that?!” 

If Harald was Kendrick O’Jear’s right hand, then his left hand could be said to be Iar. 

Iar was a massive man, as big as a bear, who traveled from country to country gathering dirty jobs that high-ranking nobles or officials couldn’t resolve through normal means. 

He always made sure to collect payment in full once the job was done. 

Normally, he was fearless, but for some reason, he was now flailing his arms wildly, his face twisted as if he’d encountered something terrifying. 

Because of this, Kendrick turned his head to look, and he, too, was startled. 

Though he couldn’t let himself lose composure in front of his subordinates—he couldn’t flail around on his horse like some rookie who had just fallen into the sea—he was genuinely frightened. 

Standing in a pale mass at the grand entrance of the Central Palace were figures, silent and still, not even smiling. 

Some in the back rows were singing a strange song. It was a hymn. 

Was it because it had been so long since he’d encountered such a sight? 

Kendrick could almost imagine a noble blue light shining above their heads. 

“P-priests… why are there priests here?”  

They were priests. They could roam freely across any nation on the continent, commanding both respect and fear from the people. That wasn’t so different from Kendrick’s gang, but their actions were worlds apart. 

Ah, this is driving me crazy! What kind of wretched country is this? Not a single soldier appears, they barricade themselves for over a month, and now priests?

Kendrick struggled to calm his pounding heart, urging his horse toward the palace entrance. With the utmost decorum, he dismounted. 

Following their leader, Iar also climbed down from his massive horse. He hesitated, then walked timidly toward the group of priests, taking off his helmet respectfully. About thirty of Kendrick’s direct subordinates, apart from the mercenaries, dismounted as well, all mimicking Iar’s cautious demeanor as they stood before the priests. 

From the group of priests, a small, slender old man stepped forward. Judging by how the younger priests made way for him, he appeared to be the High Priest. 

“Welcome. Welcome, my lord, the new Grand Duke. I am Homason Audvieux, the High Priest of Fargone. Congratulations on your grand entry, Your Grace, and to your knights as well!” 

What? What did he just say? 

For now, Kendrick couldn’t afford to be rude to the priest. 

Kendrick O’Jear and his subordinates were, at their core, pirates—rough sailors, to put it nicely. Sailors lived with the constant belief that if the sea was angry, they’d all die together, and thus they held a firm conviction: never offend gods, priests, or divine will because it could bring misfortune. 

Even though they had lived by looting and running brothels, they always avoided priests, going out of their way to steer clear of them. 

Yet this Fargone debt collection job had not only been a disaster for Kendrick’s gang, but it now forced them to face the very priests they had tried so hard to avoid. 

Grinding his teeth, Kendrick growled into Harald’s ear. 

“Agh, damn it! Where is our fixer lady? She’s the one who threw us into this wretched pit, and now she’s gone? Find her. Now!” 

The High Priest stared intently at Kendrick’s chiseled, handsome face. Then, one of the attendants standing at his right-handed him a small object. Even from a distance, it was clear—it was a crown! 

The sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man in gleaming white armor, glistening in the sunlight, retreating from the diminutive old priest was almost comical. 

The old man, with a solemn and devout expression, continued to approach Kendrick. 

Kendrick, avoiding his gaze, flailed his arms, trying to push anyone nearby toward the priest. But everyone matched his backward steps, leaving no one for him to shove forward. 

“Hey, Harald! You bastard, what are you doing? The High Priest seems to have something to say, so why are you retreating? Huh? Are you seriously doing this? Why does the leader always have to be the one risking his neck at the front?” 

Lowering his voice, Kendrick called out to Harald, who was standing beside him. But the madman, as if he had stuffed his ears with cotton, turned his eyes elsewhere and backed away, ignoring Kendrick completely. 

So that’s how it is, huh? Damn it, you bastard. If that’s the case, I have no choice.

Kendrick pretended not to notice and subtly placed his leg behind Iar’s knee. 

Iar, who was even more superstitious than Kendrick, had gone pale the moment the priest approached. His jaw hung open, and his complexion turned ghostly white. When Kendrick discreetly tripped him, he fell backward without resistance. 

Landing hard on his backside, Iar groaned in pain. 

“Ah! Oh no! Ouch, ouch, ugh…” 

Sitting on the ground, Iar whimpered like a beaten dog. The others surrounded him, pretending to help and comfort him, all while ensuring the High Priest’s attention remained solely on Kendrick. 

That idiot should have fallen forward, not backward—right in front of that priest! 

Now, there was no way out. 

The priests were terrifying, but with no one else stepping forward, Kendrick stopped retreating. He assumed that if he faced the priest boldly, the priest might back off. 

“I had a dream last night, Your Grace.”  

However, when Kendrick stopped in his tracks, the High Priest handed the small crown he was holding to the attendant beside him and approached Kendrick. With his wrinkled, bony hands, he grasped Kendrick’s gauntleted hand. 

No, no, this is a dream! This old man has gone senile. If he was going to lose his mind, he should’ve done it in his own house, not here, and definitely not in front of me. And what did he call me? Grand Duke? That’s insane. A pirate-turned-brothel owner, a Grand Duke?

Kendrick suppressed the laughter that threatened to escape and looked at the High Priest. He had no choice but to meet his gaze because the old man was gripping his hand tightly and locking eyes with him. 

When their eyes met, Kendrick gulped nervously. 

“Your Holiness, High Priest, I’m sorry, but I’m just here to collect the debt owed by Grand Duke Emmet Bruno. That’s all. I have no lingering attachment to Fargone. If you’d allow us to briefly tour the Central Palace and gather the items we need, we’ll leave without causing any harm to the people of Fargone.” 

Still holding the High Priest’s hand, Kendrick turned his head and surveyed the state of the Central Palace. 

The exterior looked impressive, but what about the inside? 

The Central Palace of Rodias, the capital of Fargone, was painted white and decorated with golden carvings along its corridors, making it appear grand. Yet, it didn’t feel beautiful; something about it felt off. 

The mansions built next to the palace, all equally lavish, seemed to be townhouses for the nobles. However, there were no houses for commoners visible along the roadsides. As a result, the Central Palace looked like a white mountain rising abruptly in the middle of a barren field. 

“Your Grace, would you follow me for a moment?” 

The High Priest pulled Kendrick’s hand, attempting to lead him into the Central Palace as Kendrick absentmindedly studied its grandeur. 

“Wait, hold on. Your Holiness, High Priest, we’ll come along too.” 

Iar and Harald suddenly appeared at Kendrick’s side, as if worried the tiny old man might devour him. 

You fools, couldn’t you have stepped up before I got caught? Damn it.

Since his hand was already caught, and the Central Palace was a place Kendrick had been curious to see, he allowed the old man to guide him into the gaping, dark entrance of the palace. 

The interior was just as extravagant as the exterior, but the stench of blood filled the air. Kendrick wasn’t the only one who noticed it. His two subordinates on either side also turned their heads toward one corner of the vast first-floor hall, startled by the sudden, overwhelming scent of blood. 

There, six corpses lay. 

In front of the corpses, more than twenty people, clearly nobles judging by their plump figures and the fine fabrics of their clothes, knelt in chains. 

Several soldiers dressed in royal guards’ uniforms, wearing red cloaks, loomed over them, ensuring they didn’t move. They occasionally prodded the noblewomen, who tried to inch away from the corpses, with the tips of their swords to keep them in place.